MADE  TO  ORDER 

SHORT  STORIES  FROM 
A  COLLEGE  COURSE 


SELECTED  BY 

HOWARD  MAYNADIER 


NEW  YORK 

LLOYD  ADAMS  NOBLE 

MCMXV 


Copyright,  1915 

by 
HOWARD   MAYNADIER 


PREFACE 

The  gems  of  narrative  here  presented  to  the 
public  were  polished,  all  within  a  period  of  a 
few  months,  for  the  greater  lustre  of  one  of  the 
courses  in  "  English  Composition  "  in  Harvard 
College.  They  were  modestly  intended  for  none 
but  class-room  readers — that  is,  a  privileged 
audience  of  about  a  hundred ;  but  the  instructor, 
feeling  that  even  for  his  own  sake  the  brilliancy 
of  his  pupils  should  not  be  hidden  under  a 
bushel,  has  urged  them  to  overcome  their  bash- 
fulness  and  offer  their  productions  to  a  larger 
circle.  In  so  doing,  he  has  been  encouraged 
by  the  friendly  assistance  of  the  publisher, 
Mr.  Lloyd  Adams  Noble,  late  a  member  of  the 
course  for  which  the  gifted  authors  wrote;  and 
also  by  the  kindly  interest  of  several  other 
graduates  of  Harvard: — Mr.  Charles  Copeland 
of  Wilmington,  Delaware,  Mr.  Robert  Wheaton 
Coues,  Mr.  Douglas  Crocker,  Mr.  August  E. 
Lewis,  Mr.  William  Rhinelander  Stewart,  Jr., 
and  Mr.  Sumner  Welles — all,  needless  to  say, 
gentlemen  of  the  very  finest  literary  taste. 

These  friends,  and  in  several   instances  for- 

iii 

333794 


iv  PREFACE 

mer  members,  of  the  course,  have  thought 
with  the  instructor  that  this  volume  is  in- 
teresting, if  not  unique,  because  of  the  way 
in  which  it  came  into  being.  At  least  they 
know  of  no  other  collection  of  short  stories, 
now  offering  themselves  in  the  general  market, 
which  were  written  originally  as  class-room 
exercises.  For  the  same  reason  others  may 
like  to  read  the  book;  and  perhaps  others 
still,  who,  whether  or  not  interested  in  the 
study  of  "  English  Composition  "  in  our  col- 
leges, are  interested  in  good  stories.  Anyway, 
nobody  need  be  the  least  afraid  of  finding  these 
stories  too  serious,  because  they  have  helped 
their  writers  on  the  road  towards  a  degree  from 
Harvard  University.  Nobody  is  in  danger  of 
suffering  undue  mental  strain  in  reading  them. 
Like  most  good  stories,  they  are  intended 
primarily  to  entertain.  They  did  entertain 
the  instructor  as  he  read  them,  and  so  he  is 
glad  to  take  this  opportunity  to  thank  the 
authors  heartily  for  the  pleasure  which  they 
—like  so  many  others  of  his  students — have 
given  him.  No  doubt  the  fortunate  public 
will  now  show  their  good  taste  by  equal  appre- 
ciation. 

HOWARD  MAYNADIER 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  LADY  IN  GRAY Harold  Amory i 

THE  DICE  DECIDE R.  G.  Carter 25 

GOOD-BYE,  VERA Gerald  Courtney ....     47 

THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA Duncan  Dana 91 

PEOPLE  DON'T  Do  SUCH  THINGS  .  .  Gordon  Lamont 119 

THE  IRON  BAND Albert  F.  Leffingwell  129 

A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG Philip  R.  Mechem .  .   151 

HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER Edward  C.  Park 181 

THE  GRAN'SON  CREW Charles  C.  Petersen. .  201 

OUR  SPHINX William  E.  Shea 215 

THE  Six  TWENTIES George  C.  Smith,  Jr.  243 

THE  BALANCE Richard  B.  Southgate  261 

THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS Leonard  Wood,  Jr.  .    285 


THE  LADY   IN  GRAY 


THE   LADY   IN   GRAY 

FRIEL,  my  child,  here's  a  letter  from 
your  dear  mother,"  said  Miss  Lav- 
ender to  her  niece.  "  She  says  that 
she  is  expecting  you  next  Thursday 
on  the  one  o'clock  train.  Unless  Hortense  is 
better  by  that  time,  I  don't  see  who  will  be 
able  to  take  you  down." 

"  I  guess  I'm  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
myself,"  replied  Muriel  proudly,  for  she  was 
secretly  quite  pleased  at  the  idea  of  travelling 
alone. 

Muriel  Littleton  was  an  only  daughter  and 
had  just  finished  a  course  at  Miss  Debbs's 
School  for  Young  Ladies.  Her  father  and  mother 
had  gone  to  their  summer  house  at  Narra- 
gansett  Pier  a  few  weeks  before,  leaving  her 
to  the  care  of  her  maiden  aunt,  Miss  Priscilla 
Lavender,  until  school  should  be  over.  Miss 
Lavender  had  been  in  a  tremendous  state  of 
excitement  ever  since  Muriel's  arrival.  She 

declared  that  she  had  not  done  so  much  worry  - 

3 


4  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

ing  since  the  illness  of  her  prize  Angora  cat, 
Timothy  B.  Now,  to  cap  it  all,  Hortense, 
her  niece's  maid,  had  come  down  with  pleurisy, 
and  so  the  entire  charge  of  the  young  lady 
fell  on  her  aunt's  nervous  shoulders.  The 
thought  of  getting  Muriel  off  her  hands  was 
a  relief  to  the  poor  woman,  but  the  idea  of 
the  girl's  going  unchaperoned  from  New  York 
to  Narragansett  Pier  tempered  this  relief  with 
considerable  dismay.  With  this  cloud  hanging 
over  her  head,  Miss  Lavender  set  about  help- 
ing her  niece  get  her  things  ready  for  the 
summer.  Between  them  they  managed  to  pack 
the  three  trunks  and  two  hat-boxes  which 
made  up  the  necessary  equipment  for  a  quiet 
season  at  the  Pier.  After  this  feat  the  good 
lady  was  exhausted.  Muriel,  however,  was 
full  of  pleasant  anticipation. 

On  the  day  of  departure  Miss  Lavender 
took  occasion  at  luncheon  to  deliver  herself 
of  a  few  words  of  advice. 

"  Now,  Muriel,  before  you  go,  I  want  you 
to  promise  me  two  or  three  things."  (Muriel 
steeled  herself  for  an  avalanche  of  exhorta- 
tions.) "  First,  I  want  you  to  remember  that 
you  are  only  seventeen,  and,  after  all,  a  very 
young  girl.  I  want  you  to  promise  me  faith- 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  5 

fully  that  you  won't  buy  any  of  those  vulgar 
novels  that  they  sell  on  trains.  They  are  full 
of  sentimental  trash  and  are  not  the  things 
for  you  to  read,  my  dear.  You  had  much 
better  read  that  nice  edition  of  '  Romola ' 
that  your  Aunt  Helen  gave  you  last  Christmas. 
Also,  if  any  young  man  should  be  impertinent 
enough  to  address  you,  I  want  you  to  refuse 
to  answer  and  to  gaze  upon  him  with  cold 
disdain."  Miss  Lavender  had  one  of  the 
hated  novels  to  thank  for  this  last  phrase. 
"  He  will  see  that  he  is  speaking  to  a  lady 
and  will  know  enough  to  discontinue  his  odious 
attentions.  Now  about  your  money.  Be  very 
careful  of  it,  and  always  be  sure  to  keep  your 
hand  on  your  purse.  And  don't  waste  any 
money  on  candy.  That  always  is  extrava- 
gant and  is  ruinous  to  the  complexion.  I 
will  send  Katy  with  you  as  far  as  the  station. 
Now,  dear,  kiss  me  good-bye,  and  promise 
to  take  good  care  of  yourself;"  and  Miss  Lav- 
ender offered  a  faded  cheek  for  her  niece's 
delectation. 

"  Good-bye,  Aunt  Pris,"  said  Muriel,  giving 
her  a  hasty  kiss,  and  the  next  minute  she  was 
rattling  off  to  the  station  in  a  taxi,  with  her 
aunt's  words  of  advice  still  ringing  in  her 


6  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

ears  and  the  faithful  Katy  seated  by  her 
side.  She  had  just  time  to  get  her  ticket, 
say  good-bye  to  Katy,  buy  a  magazine,  and 
catch  the  train.  After  vainly  trying  to  guess 
the  title  of  a  picture  in  which  a  clergyman 
and  a  scantily  clad  young  lady  took  up  the 
foreground,  she  looked  about  her  in  search  of 
interest.  A  blue-coated  boy  was  swinging  down 
the  aisle. 

"  New  novel  by  Peter  McFarland,  just  out," 
he  bawled.  "  Fascinating  tale  of  real  life!  " 

Muriel  hesitated  a  minute,  as  she  thought 
of  what  her  Aunt  Priscilla  had  said,  and  then 
beckoned  to  the  boy. 

"  How  much  is  that  new  novel,  please?  >! 
she  asked  blushingly. 

"  Dollar-twenty,  Miss." 

Soon  Muriel,  oblivious  of  everything  about 
her,  was  buried  in  the  adventures  of  the  "  Lady 
in  Gray."  She  followed  her  through  theatres, 
cafes,  dances,  palaces,  yes,  and  through  trains, 
with  eager  interest.  The  "  Lady  in  Gray  " 
certainly  was  charming.  Finally  to  Muriel's 
delight  this  beautiful  girl  became  safely  mar- 
ried to  the  attractive  young  prince  whom 
she  had  met  travelling  "  incog."  on  the  Bar 
Harbor  Express.  It  was  all  too  good  to  be 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  7 

true!  How  romantic  the  meeting  had  been! 
The  "  Lady  in  Gray  "  had  dropped  her  hand- 
kerchief quite  by  accident.  The  good-looking 
young  man  across  the  aisle  had  hastened  to 
pick  it  up  with  the  brilliant  remark  of,  "  It's 
very  warm,  is  it  not?  "  She  had  replied, 
"  Yes,  extremely."  And  so  the  affair  began. 

Muriel  settled  back  in  her  chair  as  she 
pondered  on  the  happiness  of  the  young  couple 
and  thought  of  the  "  luminous  glory  of  love." 
That  was  a  phrase  she  had  found  in  the  book, 
and  she  liked  it  very  much.  Suddenly  she 
caught  sight  of  a  handsome  young  man  op- 
posite her.  She  had  not  noticed  him  before, 
so  engrossed  had  she  been  in  her  novel.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  plain  blue  serge  suit  and  a 
straw  hat,  and  was  gazing  at  her  with  a  sort 
of  twinkle  in  his  dark  gray  eyes.  Suddenly 
her  handkerchief  fluttered  to  the  floor.  After- 
wards she  asked  herself  if  she  really  meant 
to  let  it  drop  or  not.  The  young  man  sprang 
to  pick  it  up,  saying  with  a  glance  at  the 
book  in  her  lap, 

"  It's  very  warm,  is  it  not?  " 

Before  Muriel  knew  what  she  was  doing, 
she  had  replied,  "  Yes,  extremely,"  and  was 
blushing  furiously. 


8  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

"  Won't  you  let  me  have  the  porter  open 
your  window?  "  the  young  man  was  saying. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  she  murmured,  "  you 
are  very  kind." 

While  the  porter  was  fussing  with  her  win- 
dow, she  tried  to  decide  whether  she  ought 
to  keep  on  talking  to  her  new  acquaintance. 
Why  not?  He  looked  like  a  gentlemen  and 
was  so  nice!  How  romantic  it  would  be! 
She  could  leave  him  at  the  Pier  anyway. 

"  What  is  your  destination? "  she  asked 
in  her  sweetest  tones. 

"  Why,  I'm  going  to  Narragansett  Pier," 
he  replied. 

"So  am  I!"  Muriel  exclaimed.  "Isn't  it 
a  lovely  place!  This  is  only  the  second  season 
that  we've  been  there.  We  always  used  to  go 
to  Long  Island,  but  last  year  Papa  took  a 
house  at  Narragansett  Pier,  and  we  all  had 
a  glorious  summer.  I  suppose  you've  been  there 
thousands  of  times?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  there  a  good  deal," 
said  the  young  man.  "  I  love  the  place,  but 
there  is  getting  to  be  such  an  army  of  rich 
Jews  down  there  that  I'm  afraid  they'll  spoil 
it  some  day.  Their  hideous  castles  are  begin- 
ning to  ruin  the  landscape  already.  It's  too 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  9 

bad  that  America's  vulgar  rich  can't  be  segre- 
gated." 

Muriel  started.  This  was  exactly  the  sen- 
timent, almost  the  identical  words,  which  the 
Prince  had  vouchsafed  to  the  "  Lady  in  Gray  >; 
on  their  first  romantic  meeting  in  the  Bar 
Harbor  Express.  How  like  the  Prince  this 
young  fellow  was  with  his  quiet  voice  and 
aristocratic  notions!  How  she  wished  that  she 
knew  his  name !  The  "  Lady  in  Gray  "  had  had 
no  trouble  in  finding  out  the  Prince's,  for  that 
gentleman  had  introduced  himself  very  shortly 
after  he  had  restored  her  handkerchief  to  her. 

"  Yes,  they  have  taken  quite  a  hold  on  the 
place.  It's  too  bad,"  she  said  with  sym- 
pathetic indignation,  suddenly  realising  that 
some  answer  was  expected  to  his  heated  de- 
nunciation of  the  prosperous  race  with  the 
crooked  noses.  She  simply  had  to  find  out 
who  he  was!  Suddenly  a  thought  occurred 
to  her.  It  was  worth  trying  at  any  rate. 
She  peered  fixedly  out  of  the  window  and  ex- 
claimed enthusiastically— 

"  Oh,  look  at  those  beautiful  trees,  Mr. " 

"  Fulton,"  he  supplied  rather  whimsically. 
Then,  pausing  a  moment,  "  Aren't  they  pic- 
turesque, Miss  — 


10  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

"  Montague/'  she  gasped,  and  then  bit  her 
lip  with  annoyance  because  she  had  not  had 
the  courage  to  give  her  real  name.  However, 
Montague  was  more  romantic  than  Littleton 
at  any  rate. 

They  sat  in  silence  after  this  mutual  intro- 
duction. Mr.  Fulton  crossed  his  legs  and 
began  looking  out  of  the  window  at  more  trees 
like  those  which  Muriel  had  admired  so  much, 
while  she  racked  her  brain  for  something  else 
to  say.  She  must  not  allow  the  conversation 
to  flag  in  this  manner.  The  "  Lady  in  Gray  ' 
would  not  have  done  so,  she  felt  sure. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  are  a  hard-working 
business  man  coming  down  for  the  week-end, 
Mr.  Fulton,"  she  said,  congratulating  herself 
that  this  was  rather  good. 

The  young  man  turned  about  and  eyed  her 
seriously. 

"  Well,  hardly,"  he  answered  sadly.     "  You 
see — I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before 
—I'm  a  chauffeur,"   and  he  looked  away  to 
avoid  meeting  her  eyes. 

"  What!  "  cried  Muriel,  drawing  back;  "  but 
you  look  and  talk  like  a  gentleman!  How 
could  you  have  deceived  me  so! "  and  her 
pretty  eyes  filled  with  tears. 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  11 

"  It  was  low  of  me,  I  admit, "  he  replied 
penitently,  "  but  I  don't  often  get  a  chance 
to  talk  to  girls  of  your  sort,  and  the  tempta- 
tion was  too  great.  I'm  very  sorry." 

"  Well,  I  would  rather  that  you  would  not 
speak  to  me  any  more,"  she  said  haughtily, 
but  secretly  she  was  rather  pleased  at  the  humble 
sincerity  of  his  apology. 

"  I  was  a  gentleman  once,"  he  went  on, 
not  heeding  her.  "  But  sometimes  men  fall 
in  the  world.  I  won't  trouble  you  any  more," 
and  he  started  to  rise. 

"  Oh,  stay  and  tell  me  about  yourself," 
she  cried  impulsively.  How  sorry  she  felt 
for  him!  "  You  must  have  had  a  hard  time." 

'  Well,  yes,"  he  said,  sitting  down  again, 
"  but  I  guess  that  I  deserved  it.  It's  the 
old,  old  story.  I  went  to  college  with  a 
good,  fair  allowance,  but  what  with  cards  and 
drink  I  soon  ran  through  it  and  piled  up 
debts  that  make  me  shudder  every  time  I 
think  of  them.  I  could  no  longer  hope  for 
help  from  my  family,  who  were  heartbroken 
at  my  excesses,  so  I  was  turned  out  upon  the 
world  to  shift  for  myself.  That  was  a  year 
ago.  It  went  pretty  hard  with  me  for  a  while, 
but  the  other  day  I  met  a  man  who  used  to 


12  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

work  for  my  father.  He  said  that  he  could 
get  me  a  job  as  chauffeur  down  here  at  Nar- 
ragansett  Pier.  I  used  to  run  a  car  myself 
in  the  old  days.  I  jumped  at  the  chance, 
for  it  meant  food  at  any  rate.  The  man  lent 
me  enough  to  get  some  decent  clothes,  and 
to-day  I  start  work.  I'm  going  to  keep  on 
working  until  I'm  able  to  pay  every  cent  I 
owe  and  look  my  father  in  the  face  once  more!  " 
And  the  young  man  glowed  with  noble  deter- 
mination that  did  him  credit. 

"  That's  splendid! "  cried  Muriel,  clasping 
her  hands  enthusiastically.  "I'm  sure  that 
you'll  make  good!  " 

Here  was  a  hero  indeed!  To  be  sure,  he 
was  no  prince,  only  a  poor,  hard-working 
chauffeur,  but,  as  Muriel  told  herself,  his  deter- 
mination to  retrieve  his  fortunes  raised  him 
above  the  horde  of  ordinary  chauffeurs  and 
gave  him  an  almost  ethereal  distinction.  Be- 
sides, he  had  been  a  gentleman  once.  He  was 
still,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

The  train  pulled  into  the  Pier  station  and 
Muriel  caught  sight  of  her  mother  and  her 
brother  standing  on  the  platform.  She  rose 
hastily. 

"  I    must    say    good-bye    now,"    she    said. 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  13 

"  You  know  that  it  would  not  do  for  my  family 
to  see  me  talking  to  you.  Perhaps,  when 
you've  made  good —  " 

"  Good-bye,"  said  the  young  man  chokingly. 
"  God  bless  you  for  your  kindness! "  And 
they  parted,  leaving  by  separate  doors. 

After  Muriel  had  finished  kissing  her  mother, 
she  said,  "  Where's  Jim?  I  thought  I  saw 
him  standing  with  you." 

"  Oh,  he's  gone  to  meet  a  friend  and  will 
be  here  in  a  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Littleton. 

The  next  moment  they  saw  Jim  coming 
towards  them  arm  in  arm  with  a  young  man. 
Muriel's  head  swam  and  the  platform  seemed 
to  be  slowly  rising  and  sinking!  It  was  her 
acquaintance  of  the  train! 

"  This  is  my  sister,  Harry,"  Jim  was  say- 
ing. ;<  If  you'll  excuse  me,  Mother,  I've  got 
some  errands  to  do  in  the  village.  Harry 
can  run  you  up  in  the  car  and  then  come 
back  for  me.  You're  a  good  chauffeur,  aren't 
you,  Harry?  " 

The  first  thing  Muriel  knew  she  was  whirling 
away  with  her  mother  and  the  "  chauffeur." 
As  they  sped  over  the  even  slope  of  Bellevue 
Avenue,  Mrs.  Littleton  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing at  the  silence  of  Jim's  friend.  And  Muriel 


14  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

too!  The  girl  had  nothing  to  say  for  herself 
at  all!  What  could  be  the  matter?  Mrs. 
Littleton  was  puzzled. 

"  You  must  help  us  amuse  Muriel,  Mr. 
Fulton.  We  have  very  few  men  down  here 
just  now,"  she  said  brightly. 

"  Pleasure,"  muttered  Fulton,  red  to  the 
ears  with  embarrassment.  What  could  he  pos- 
sibly say  to  Miss  Littleton?  What  a  fool 
he  had  been!  But  as  he  thought  of  the  bril- 
liant cover  of  "  The  Lady  in  Gray  "  he  could 
not  help  smiling  in  spite  of  himself.  It 
was  almost  worth  the  punishment,  but  not 
quite.  He  was  certainly  in  a  very  awkward 
position. 

1  What  have  you  been  reading  lately,  my 
dear?  "  Mrs.  Littleton  was  saying  to  Muriel. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Muriel,  blushing  pain- 
fully. Would  this  dreadful  drive  ever  be  over? 
How  could  he  have  made  such  fun  of  her? 
She  was  ready  to  cry  with  vexation.  The 
humiliation  of  it  all ! 

"  There's  the  driveway,"  she  heard  her  mother 
say  as  from  a  long  distance. 

"  Thank  heaven  it's  almost  over!  "  thought 
Muriel  and  Fulton  simultaneously. 

The    big   machine    drew   up   in    front    of  a 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  15 

spacious  white  stone  "  cottage  "  with  a  pleas- 
ant outlook  over  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Bay. 

"  Dinner  will  be  ready  in  about  an  hour," 
said  Mrs.  Littleton.  "  Do  try  and  make  Jim 
hurry  up.  He's  always  late  to  meals." 

The  thought  of  an  hour's  freedom  from  em- 
barrassment was  sweet  to  Fulton  as  he  sped 
down  the  long  drive. 

When  Mrs.  Littleton  was  alone  with  her 
daughter,  she  inquired  rather  anxiously, 

"  Why  were  you  so  subdued  on  the  way 
up  from  the  station,  Muriel?  You  hardly 
said  a  word?  Can  anything  have  happened? 
Is  your  Aunt  Priscilla  quite  well?  " 

"  Yes,  Mamma,"  said  Muriel  confusedly. 
"  Everything  is  all  right.  Aunt  Pris  is  very 
well  and  sends  you  her  love." 

But  Mrs.  Littleton  knew  that  everything 
was  not  "  all  right."  Muriel  was  usually  so 
bright  with  strangers.  What  was  the  proper 
explanation?  Suddenly  her  eye  caught  sight 
of  "  The  Lady  in  Gray  "  lying  on  the  table. 

"  Where  did  that  book  come  from?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  Oh,  it's  one  that  I  bought  on  the  train," 
said  Muriel,  trying  to  look  unconcerned. 


16  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

"  Is  it  interesting?  "  her  mother  persisted. 

"  No.  That  is,  yes.  Quite  so."  And  Muriel 
blushed  deeply  in  spite  of  herself. 

Mrs.  Littleton  went  away  to  dress  more 
puzzled  than  ever. 

That  evening  at  dinner  Muriel  sat  next  to 
Harry  Fulton.  There  was  to  be  a  bal  masque 
at  the  Casino  and  there  was  much  discussion 
about  costumes.  This  happily  furnished  Muriel 
and  Fulton  with  a  topic  of  conversation. 
They  discussed  quite  gaily  the  relative  value 
of  Dutch  girls,  pierrettes,  sailors,  and  clowns. 
The  embarrassment  which  they  had  felt  on  the 
drive  up  from  the  station  was  beginning  to  wear 
away. 

"  I  think  sailors  ought  to  be  barred  from 
fancy  parties,"  Muriel  said.  "  They  are  al- 
together too  common.  Besides,  if  the  men 
know  that  they  can  always  go  as  sailors,  it 
makes  them  lazy  and  they  don't  take  any 
trouble  about  their  costumes,  while  the  poor 
girls  have  to  lie  awake  all  night  thinking  about 
theirs." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Fulton,  "  but  then,  the 
girls  ought  to  have  to  take  more  trouble  about 
their  costume  than  the  men.  It's  only  right. 
A  woman's  appearance  is  a  very  important 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  17 

thing.     I   regard   a   sailor   suit  as  a  God-send 
where  fancy  parties  are  concerned. " 

'  What  are  you  two  talking  about  so  busily?  " 
said  Mrs.  Littleton,  thinking  to  herself  how 
pretty  Muriel  was  looking. 

1  The  proverbial  question  of  what  a  woman 
ought  to  wear,"  Fulton  replied,  smilingly. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Fulton,"  Mrs.  Littleton 
went  on,  "  have  you  read  '  The  Lady  in  Gray  '? 
My  daughter  tells  me  it  is  very  interesting." 

"  No,"  Fulton  lied  promptly,  and  lapsed 
into  silence.  Mrs.  Littleton  renewed  her  efforts 
to  engage  him  in  conversation,  but  without 
success.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  his  power  of 
speech. 

"  What  a  peculiar  young  man,"  she  said  to 
herself. 

Finally  to  the  relief  of  two  of  those  present 
the  conversation  became  general  and  the  rest 
of  the  dinner-party  passed  off  smoothly  enough. 
After  dinner  Jim  proposed  bridge,  but  was 
voted  down,  and  the  girls  retired  to  dress  for 
the  party. 

"  Let's  get  dressed  now  and  walk  over  to 
the  Casino,  Jim,"  said  Fulton,  wishing  to  avoid, 
at  least  for  the  present,  another  forced  con- 
versation with  Muriel. 


18  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

"  All  right,"  Jim  assented.  "  I  haven't 
walked  anywhere  for  a  month." 

When  Muriel  arrived  at  the  Casino,  the 
dance  was  in  full  swing,  with  Conrad  playing 
and  the  large  ball-room  crowded  with  varie- 
gated figures.  Pierrots,  pierrettes,  Spanish 
girls,  sailors,  eighteenth-century  beauties,  and 
eighteenth-century  beaux  added  to  the  pictur- 
esqueness  of  the  scene.  As  Muriel  was  a  good 
dancer,  she  was  soon  gliding  about  the  room 
doing  her  best  to  recognise  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances among  the  vast  throng.  It  was 
delightful  to  her,  when  boys  whom  she  had 
known  all  her  life,  failed  to  recognise  her  through 
her  dainty  lace  mask.  She  laughed  at  them 
and  refused  to  speak  in  spite  of  the  most 
touching  entreaties.  She  could  not  help  feeling 
that  her  costume  was  a  success,  that  the  music 
was  enchanting,  and  that  she  was  having  a 
very  good  time. 

"  May  I  cut  in?  "  a  voice  was  saying  at 
her  elbow,  a  strangely  familiar  voice  somehow, 
and  she  found  herself  dancing  with  a  tramp 
in  a  shabby  black  coat  and  dilapidated  felt 
hat. 

"  Now  who  in  the  world  are  you?  "  Muriel 
asked  wonderingly. 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  19 

"  Well,  men  call  me  Prince,  but  sometimes 
even  royalty  likes  to  get  away  from  all  re- 
sponsibility and  travel  in  disguise.  '  Uneasy 
lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown,'  you  know." 

"  But  your  voice  is  familiar,"  Muriel  went 
on.  "  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  I  must  have 
met  you  somewhere." 

"  Very  possible.  Did  you  ever  go  to  Bar 
Harbor,  Miss  Littleton?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Muriel,  "  but  I  can't  seem  to 
remember  you  there.  Won't  you  please  tell 
me  your  name?  It's  mean  to  keep  me  in  sus- 
pense." 

The  Prince  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
whispered  in  Muriel's  ear, 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  tell  anyone  if 
I  reveal  myself?  " 

'  Yes,  oh,  yes!  "  Muriel  exclaimed  excitedly. 

11  Well,   then,"   he   spoke   so   low   as   to   be 
almost   inaudible,    "  not   really   royalty;     only 
— Mezzalini." 

Muriel  started.  Mezzalini  was  the  name  of 
the  prince  in  "  The  Lady  in  Gray!  " 

"  Oh,  how  could  you  deceive  me  again, 
Mr.  Fulton! "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  how  unen- 
durable! I  can't  understand  how  you  could 
trifle  with  my  feelings."  She  had  never  used 


20  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

that  phrase  herself  before,  but  heroines  in  her 
novels  used  it.     She  started  to  leave  him. 

He  became  serious  at  once.  "  One  minute, 
please,  Miss  Littleton.  I  have  something  very 
important  to  say  to  you.  We  must  have  an 
understanding.  I  just  got  off  that  stuff  about 
Mezzalini  because  I  did  not  know  exactly 
how  to  begin.  Would  you  mind  stepping  out 
on  the  porch?  I  really  must  talk  to  you." 

Muriel  wanted  to  refuse,  but  the  tone  of 
his  voice  commanded  obedience. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  as  indifferently  as 
she  could. 

When  they  were  seated  on  the  porch,  he 
began, 

'''  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  ever  for- 
give me  after  my  actions  on  .the  train.  I  be- 
haved abominably,  don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  Yes,  perhaps  you  did,"  said  Muriel,  feel- 
ing uncomfortable. 

'  Well,"  he  went  on,  taking  off  his  mask, 
"  when  I  saw  you  reading  that  book  and  when 
you  dropped  your  handkerchief,  I  could  not 
resist  handing  it  back  to  you  with  the  same 
words  which  the  Prince  used  to  the  Lady  in 
Gray.  You  see,  I  had  just  finished  reading 
the  book  myself  and  thought  that  you  would 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  21 

catch  on.  It  was  pure  mischief  on  my  part, 
I  admit,  but  the  chance  was  too  good.  I'm 
awfully  sorry.  Then,  when  you  seemed  willing 
to  talk  to  me,  there  was  another  temptation 
stronger  than  the  first.  You  told  me  your 
name  was  Montague,  so  I  thought  there  was 
no  harm  in  telling  you  the  chauffeur  story. 
You  didn't  look  as  if  your  name  was  Montague, 
and  I  didn't  think  that  I  looked  like  a  chauffeur. 
I  suppose  I  relied  altogether  too  much  on  my 
respectable  appearance.  I  never  thought  for 
a  moment  that  you  would  take  me  seriously. 
Anyway,  I  had  no  idea  that  Jim's  sister  would 
be  travelling  on  that  train.  It  was  just  like 
him  not  to  tell  me  anything  about  it.  Miss 
Littleton,  have  you  a  sense  of  humor?  " 

i(  I  think  so,"  said  Muriel  cautiously,  but 
feeling  sure  of  it  as  she  looked  at  his  serious 
face  under  the  shabby  felt  hat. 

'  Well,  doesn't  it  seem  absurd  to  you  that 
we  should  have  made  such  fools  of  ourselves 
over  such  an  insignificant  book  as  '  The  Lady 
in  Gray '  ?  You  took  it  too  seriously  and  I 
not  seriously  enough,  don't  you  think  so?  " 
And  he  smiled  engagingly. 

Just  why  Muriel  said  "  yes  "  to  this  ques- 
tion she  did  not  know.  The  way  in  which 


22  THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

he  said  "  don't  you  think  so?  "  may  have 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  Besides,  they 
were  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  her 
hand  lay  close  to  his.  Faint  strains  of  Conrad 
sounded  from  the  ball-room  and  the  conver- 
sation of  the  dancers  was  borne  to  them  gently, 
but  it  all  seemed  very  far  away. 

"  I  guess  you  are  the  Prince  after  all — Harry, " 
said  Muriel  softly;  and  once  more  she  thought 
of  the  "  luminous  glory  of  love."  Her  hand 
crept  even  closer  to  his.  And  then — well,  of 
course,  there  was  only  one  thing  that  he  could 
do. 

After  Fulton  went  to  his  room  that  night, 
he  sat  up  long  and  late,  deep  in  thought.  That 
he  had  gone  too  far  was  undeniable.  What  was 
he  to  do?  Muriel  was  an  exceedingly  pretty 
girl,  it  was  true,  but  she  meant  nothing  to  him 
beyond  being  Jim's  sister.  Why  would  she  give 
such  a  romantic  twist  to  everything  he  said  or 
did?  "Curse  *  The  Lady  in  Gray/  anyhow!" 
he  exclaimed.  Why  did  young  girls  read  such 
books?  Suddenly  he  heard  a  knock  and  the 
sound  of  hastily  retreating  footsteps.  He  went 
to  the  door  and  found  a  note  addressed  to  him- 
self lying  on  the  threshold.  Opening  it,  he 
read: 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY  23 

"  Dear  Prince, 

"How  can  I  tell  you?  It's  all  so  wonder- 
ful to  me!  You  see  Jack  Wil:oughby,  who  came 
back  from  the  dance  with  us,  has  loved  me 
dreadfully  ever  since  last  winter,  and  after  you 
went  up-stairs,  he  said  there  was  something  he 
must  tell  me,  and  he  asked  me  to  marry  him. 
I  told  him  I  should  have  to  think  it  over,  but  I 
thought  it  only  fair  to  you  to  let  you  know  at 
once  that  I  may  say  *  yes.'  I  hope  you  won't  be 
too  much  cut  up  if  I  do,  and  that  nothing  I  may 
have  said  to-night  has  given  you  undue  encour- 
agement. I  shou'd  never  forgive  myself  if  I 
thought  that  I  had  blighted  your  life. 

"M.  L." 

"Lucky  Jack!"  Fulton  almost  shouted,  "I 
know  one  man  that  you  needn't  be  afraid  of." 

HAROLD  AMORY. 


THE  DICE  DECIDE 


THE   DICE   DECIDE 

1OM  early  childhood  Levy  had  al- 
ways shown  great  fondness  for  any- 
thing shaped  like  a  cube.  Whether 
his  ancestors  were  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  the  great  Euclid  is  not  known, 
although  with  a  little  expense  and  a  clever 
genealogist  such  might  easily  be  proved  the 
case.  The  fact  is,  even  before  he  was  able 
to  talk  he  would  sit  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
and  play  with  a  couple  of  lumps  of  sugar 
without  a  sound,  except  an  occasional  inar- 
ticulate chuckle  of  delight.  When,  after  a 
short  time,  he  knocked  the  corners  off  the 
lumps  he  seemed  to  realise  that  they  were 
no  longer  perfect  cubes,  for  then  he  would 
eat  them  and  cry  for  more.  When  this  "  sugar 
age  "  had  passed,  and  he  became  old  enough 
to  guide  himself  safely  from  chair  to  chair, 
he  made  it  known  in  lusty  tones  that  his 
happiness  was  incomplete  without  building- 
blocks.  After  his  brother,  Sam,  brought  a 

27 


28  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

set  home  to  him  one  evening  he  remained 
satisfied  for  almost  three  months.  Then  an 
important  event  came  in  his  life. 

It  happened  that  a  young  man  who  was  calling 
on  his  oldest  sister,  accidentally  pulled  out  a 
pair  of  dice  along  with  his  pocket-handkerchief. 
The  youngster's  shining  black  eyes  caught  sight 
of  them,  and,  although  he  was  unfamiliar  with 
their  purpose,  he  set  up  a  cry  which  lasted 
until  a  severe  spanking  compelled  him  to  sup- 
press all  outward  manifestations  of  grief.  Still, 
this  longing  had  to  be  satisfied  or  the  world 
would  cease  to  move  for  the  boy.  As  soon 
as  Levy  became  old  enough  to  run  errands 
for  his  father,  he  learned,  to  his  joy,  that 
dice  could  be  bought  for  two  cents  a  pair 
at  Goldstein's  candy  store;  and  that  is  where 
his  first  two  coppers  went. 

About  fifteen  years  after  this  event,  Levy 
was  one  of  a  group  of  five  who  were  engaged 
in  a  "  crap "  game  on  the  corner  of  Cherry 
and  Pike  Streets.  His  love  for  dice,  one  may 
readily  see,  had  not  been  of  a  transient  nature. 
It  was  Friday  afternoon,  and  the  smell  of 
fish  pervaded  the  East  Side.  Underneath  the 
terminal  of  the  Manhattan  Bridge,  there  was 
a  pushing,  sweating,  chattering  mob  which 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  29 

swarmed  about  the  fish  market,  all  with  the 
one  desire,  to  get  fish  and  get  them  cheap. 
Men,  women,  and  children  moved  to  and  fro 
in  little  jerky  impulses;  everybody  had  a  bag 
or  a  basket  which  he  clung  to  desperately. 

Diagonally  across  from  the  terminal,  on  the 
corner,  the  little  group  of  five  were  bending 
eagerly  over  a  small  pile  of  coins  lying  in 
the  centre  of  the  ring  which  they  formed. 
One  of  the  five  was  rolling  the  dice  with  a  long 
swinging  motion  of  his  arm,  snapping  his 
fingers  as  he  watched  the  ivory  cubes  turn 
over  and  over.  Now  he  would  blow  his  breath 
on  them  for  luck,  and  now  curse  as  the  desired 
numbers  failed  to  turn  up — "  praying,"  the 
others  would  call  it. 

Finally  he  rolled  a  seven,  and  Levy  picked 
up  the  dice  to  try  his  luck.  He  blew  his 
breath  on  them  once  or  twice  and  shook 
them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  And  then— 

"  Cheese  it!  "  yelled  a  ragged  urchin  from 
across  the  street. 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  there  was  a 
wild  scramble,  and  then  the  gang  scattered  in 
all  directions.  Two  policemen  who  had  caused 
the  stampede  were  running  from  the  terminal. 
They  paused  but  a  moment  to  see  that  no 


30  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

money  had  been  left,  and  then  continued 
down  Pike  Street  in  hopes  of  catching  one  or 
more  of  the  offenders. 

Levy  had  knocked  over  a  baby-carriage  in 
getting  started,  and  so  was  nearest  to  the  police 
when  the  chase  began.  As  he  dodged  in  and 
out  among  push-carts  and  children,  he  spied 
an  open  hallway  and  darted  into  it.  Turning 
to  see  that  he  was  still  pursued,  he  bounded 
up  the  steep,  dark  staircase  three  steps  at  a 
time.  As  he  turned  at  the  first  landing  he 
heard  the  two  policemen  in  the  hall  below. 
So  he  continued  to  go  up  as  though  it  were 
heaven  itself  he  was  trying  to  reach.  When  he 
came  to  the  top  floor  a  door  opened  and  a  young 
girl  stepped  out  to  see  who  was  making  all  the 
noise. 

"  My  goodness,  what's  the  matter?  "  she 
cried.  "  Is  the  house—?  " 

"  Cops!  "  said  Levy  hoarsely,  as  he  darted 
through  the  open  door. 

The  police  are  looked  upon  with  disfavor 
by  all  the  people  of  the  East  Side.  So  the 
girl  stepped  quickly  into  the  room,  closed  the 
door  softly,  and  locked  it.  A  moment  later, 
as  she  listened  with  her  ear  to  a  panel,  she  heard 
the  two  policemen  puffing  outside. 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  31 

"Hell!"  said  one,  "got  away  by  the  roof. 
See!  there 's  the  open  skylight." 

"  An'  we  climbed  six  flights  of  stairs  in  this 
dam'  place.  It'll  take  all  the  beer  Kelly's  got 
to  make  up  for  it." 

The  girl  listened  until  she  heard  them  go 
down,  cursing  Levy,  his  whole  race,  and  the 
man  who  invented  tenements.  Then  she  went 
into  the  parlor  just  off  the  little  entry,  where 
she  found  Levy  nervously  rattling  the  dice  in 
his  pocket. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  scrutinising  him,  "  what 
have  you  been  doing?  " 

Now  Levy  was  not  used  to  talking  with 
strange  young  ladies;  his  bump  of  bashful- 
ness,  if  such  a  thing  exists,  prevented  fluent 
speech,  Besides,  this  girl  was  prettier  than 
any  of  his  sisters  and  had  a  way  of  raising  her 
dark  eyebrows  which  made  him  shift  uneasily 
from  one  foot  to  the  other.  So,  realising  that 
the  odds  were  against  him,  he  simply  answered, 
"  Nothin'." 

"  What  did  the  cops  want  of  you  then?  " 

Levy  continued  to  play  nervously  with  his  dice. 

"  Why  don't  you  talk,  man?  I  ain't  goin'  to 
eat  you,"  and  the  girl  raised  her  eyebrows 
higher  than  ever. 


32  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

Levy  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  girl  turned 
to  answer  the  knock,  and  then  quaked  inwardly 
as  he  thought  that  it  might  be  the  police  again. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  It's  me,  Rose,"  was  the  answer;  "what 
did  you  lock  the  door  for  when  I  told  you  I'd 
be  right  back?  " 

Rose  opened  the  door  and  allowed  her  sister, 
Ruth,  to  enter.  The  girl  started  through  the 
parlor,  but  the  sight  of  Levy  looking  like  a  cat 
that  had  just  licked  the  cream  off  the  morn- 
ing's milk,  caused  her  to  drop  several  of  her 
packages  and  look  suspiciously  at  her  sister. 
The  latter  burst  into  a  ringing  laugh  as  she 
glanced  at  the  unhappy  Levy.  Then  she 
explained  as  much  as  she  knew  and  turned  to 
the  uninvited  guest  for  the  rest.  Levy 
managed  to  utter  a  few  broken  phrases  about  a 
crap  game  and  then  started  for  the  door,  which 
Ruth  had  not  quite  closed.  As  he  went  down 
the  stairs  he  heard  the  laughter  of  the  two  girls 
whom  he  had  left  so  unceremoniously.  It  was 
not  exactly  pleasant  to  be  laughed  at,  but  any- 
thing was  better  than  the  situation  from  which 
he  had  just  escaped.  Levy  was  not  con- 
spicuous for  social  ease. 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  33 

Down  on  the  street  again,  he  met  his  friend, 
Strauss,  who  had  also  successfully  evaded  the 
police. 

11  Where'd  you  hide  on  the  cops?  "  asked 
Strauss,  as  the  two  walked  together  in  the 
direction  of  Levy's  home. 

"  Over  Giliano's." 

"  In  Cohen's?  " 

"  No,  on  the  top  floor.  Two  goils  live  there 
an'  they  let  me  in." 

"Oh!  I  know — old  man  Greenbaum's  daugh- 
ters. They're  pretty  good-lookin',"  and 
Strauss's  eyes  shone  with  admiration.  "  I  took 
one  down  to  the  Island  once,  an'  had  a  swell 
time.  Did  you  talk  to  them  long?  " 

"  No,  not  very,"  answered  Levy  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"  Hell!  "  said  his  friend,  "  wish  I'd  been  there; 
we'd  be  talkin'  yet." 

By  this  time  the  two  had  reached  Levy's 
home  where  they  parted.  As  Levy  entered 
the  room  back  of  his  father's  tailor-shop,  he 
found  part  of  the  family  eating  supper.  The 
table  was  crowded,  but  he  made  two  of  his 
little  brothers  sit  on  one  chair.  His  mother 
dished  out  some  fish  chowder  and  cut  some 
bread  for  him. 


34  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

"  Been  shootin'  craps  to-day? J!  asked  his 
father  before  Levy  had  taken  the  first  mouthful. 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  win?  " 

"  No,"  said  Levy  with  evident  disgust. 

"  Oy!  it  is  a  bad  business.  Sometimes  you 
win,  but  most  of  the  times  you  lose.  You  will 
some  day  be  sorry  if  you  don't  stop,"  and 
the  old  man  stroked  his  long  beard  propheti- 
cally. 

But  Levy  had  heard  this  too  often.  When  he 
finished  eating,  he  took  his  hat  and  left.  This 
time  he  wandered  down  the  street  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Bowery. 

The  East  Side  had  stopped  active  work  for 
the  day.  The  bustle  and  confusion  of  the  after- 
noon had  ceased ;  even  the  noise  of  the  children 
had  abated;  but  the  people  were  just  as  numer- 
ous as  ever.  Old  men  with  long  black  beards 
were  seated  on  chairs  out  on  the  sidewalk  smok- 
ing their  pipes  and  discussing  the  events  of  the 
day.  Women — thin  and  careworn — were  gath- 
ered in  groups  on  the  doorsteps,  and  up  and 
down  the  street  was  passing  a  continual  stream 
of  people. 

Levy  was  attracted  by  a  crowd  in  front  of 
Whalen's  saloon.  A  Socialist  speaker  was 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  35 

standing  in  the  back  of  a  two-wheeled  cart 
talking  in  a  loud,  convincing  tone. 

"It  is  the  fault,  the  glaring  fault,  of  the 
present  generation, "  he  was  saying,  "  that 
people  do  not  marry  early  enough.  This  is 
especially  the  case  with  the  upper  classes.  And 
what  is  the  result?  It  is  race  suicide!  This 
is  not  entirely  true  of  you  good  people  here,  for 
statistics  show  that  the  Jew  and  the  Italian 
marry  younger  than  most  people  in  America. 
But  in  the  countries  of  Southern  Europe  the 
men  marry  at  sixteen  and  the  women  at  four- 
teen. The  result  is  that  they  mature  earlier 
and  so  become  better  citizens.  An  early  mar- 
riage shows  sympathy  for  mankind,  and  this 
is  the  first  and  fundamental  principle  of  Social- 
ism. Mr.  J.  G.  Burke,  who  will  represent  the 
Socialist  party  in  your  interests  at  the  next 
election,  was  himself  married  at  the  age  of 
sixteen,  thus  showing  his  belief  even  before  he 
thought  of  politics." 

The  speaker  talked  for  a  while  longer;  and 
then,  after  calling  for  three  cheers  for  Mr. 
Burke,  the  meeting  broke  up. 

Levy  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  what  he 
had  heard,  for  he  walked  along  the  Bowery  in 
such  deep  thought  that  he  passed  a  crap  game 


36  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

without  noticing  it.  Brought  up  in  the  very 
breeding-place  of  socialistic  doctrine  he  was 
at  heart  a  Socialist,  although  he  had  never 
realised  it  before.  Marriage  must  be  a  pretty 
good  thing  after  all,  he  thought,  for  most  people 
marry  once,  and  some  several  times.  It  was 
also  a  part  of  the  religion  of  his  people,  so  the 
inevitable  conclusion  came:  he  must  get  mar- 
ried! But  how?  Where  was  he  to  find  enough 
money? 

His  wanderings  had  again  carried  him  in 
the  direction  of  a  crowd.  This  time  it  was  in 
front  of  the  Bowery  "  A.  C.,"  a  local  boxing 
club.  There  was  to  be  a  big  fight  that  night, 
and  those  who  were  lucky  enough  to  have 
tickets  were  already  going  into  the  hall.  Now 
if  there  was  one  thing  which  Levy  liked  besides 
a  crap  game  it  was  a  fight.  That  is,  he  liked 
to  watch  a  fight,  and  if  he  could  find  someone 
who  was  not  too  big,  he  would  fight  too,  for 
he  was  tough  and  wiry,  although  not  very  large. 
So  he  looked  longingly  at  the  door  through 
which  the  club  members  were  passing.  His 
eye  caught  a  familiar  figure  on  one  side  of  the 
door;  it  was  Strauss.  He  walked  over  to  see 
him  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  Strauss  had 
a  ticket. 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  37 

"  Where'd  you  get  the  pasteboard?  "  asked 
Levy. 

"  I  got  it  for  bein'  a  sparrin'  partner.  See 
me  black  eye?  "  said  Strauss,  turning  a  swollen 
face  up  toward  the  white  arc-light. 

"  Want  to  sell  it?  "  asked  Levy,  as  a  happy 
thought  struck  him. 

"  Aw,  I  wouldn't  sell  it  fer  less 'n  a  half,  an' 
you  ain't  got  that  much." 

"  No,  but  I  got  a  quarter,  an'  I'll  shoot  that 
against  the  ticket." 

Strauss's  sporting  blood  was  roused,  and  he 
invited  Levy  to  step  into  a  hallway. 

The  outcome  was  that  Levy,  with  his  own 
dice,  won  the  ticket.  As  he  took  it  from 
Strauss  he  dropped  the  quarter  and  it  did  not 
ring  as  a  genuine  silver  quarter  should. 

"  Hey,  that's  lead!  "  cried  Strauss,  "  lemme 
bite  it  an'  see  if  it  ain't?  " 

Levy  refused,  and  backed  up  his  statement  by 
saying  that  he  had  won  the  ticket  on  the  level. 

"  You  wait,  you  crook,"  cried  Strauss  unable 
to  suppress  his  anger.  "  I  get  a  black  eye  an' 
lose  me  supper  to  get  the  ticket  an'  then  you 
swindle  me  for  it!  I'll  get  even,  you  crook!" 

Levy  left  him  and  marched  by  the  ticket 
office  into  the  hall. 


38  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

In  the  centre  was  the  ring  with  its  padded 
posts  and  canvas-covered  floor,  raised  about 
four  feet.  The  place  was  only  half  rilled,  but 
men  were  coming  in  fast.  A  thin  cloud  of  gray 
tobacco  smoke  floated  at  the  ceiling  of  the  hall, 
and  a  confused  mingling  of  coarse  voices 
filled  the  warm  air  below. 

Levy  shuffled  down  the  aisle  and  dropped 
into  a  seat  near  the  ring.  Then  he  carefully 
rolled  a  cigarette  and  borrowed  a  light  from  his 
neighbor.  With  his  hands  plunged  deep  into 
his  pockets,  and  his  cigarette  hanging  from  one 
corner  of  his  mouth,  he  soon  became  oblivious 
of  the  noise  and  confusion  about  him.  He 
thought  again  of  what  the  Socialist  leader  had 
said:  "  It  is  the  fault,  the  glaring  fault,  of  the 
present  generation  that  people  do  not  marry 
early  enough. "  Levy  had  thought  of  matri- 
mony several  times,  but  not  very  seriously, 
to  be  sure.  Now,  however,  the  idea  had  struck 
him  with  great  force.  He  thought  of  the  two 
girls  who  had  caused  him  such  embarrassment 
and  wondered  which  would  make  the  better  wife. 
This  was  rather  pleasant,  and  he  smiled  to  him- 
self at  the  idea;  but  almost  immediately  the 
smile  vanished.  "  Hell!  "  he  growled,  "  I  ain't 
got  no  money — not  even  fer  more  cigarettes/' 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  39 

Suddenly  the  confusion  in  the  hall  became 
less  apparent,  and  then  almost  ceased  alto- 
gether. Levy  glanced  up  and  saw  the  referee 
about  to  speak. 

"  Gentlemen/'  he  said,  "  the  man  who  was 
to  meet  the  'Black  Cyclone  '  in  the  first  pre- 
liminary has  not  shown  up.  If  anybody  in 
the  house  is  willin'  to  take  a  chance,  he  gets  the 
ten- dollar  purse  if  he  stays  three  rounds." 
The  referee  stopped  and  looked  expectantly 
about  the  hall.  There  was  a  moment's  silence 
while  heads  turned  in  all  directions  to  see  if 
anyone  would  accept.  During  this  time  Levy 
was  thinking  hard.  Then  he  rose  slowly  and 
started  for  the  ring,  amid  yells  of  encourage- 
ment from  the  audience.  A  few  moments  later 
he  appeared  attired  in  a  soiled  pair  of  green 
trunks.  He  had  never  been  inside  a  ring  before, 
but  he  had  taken  part  in  many  a  street  fight. 
He  would  fight,  and  that  is  what  the  crowd 
wanted. 

The  bell  rang,  and  everybody  settled  back  in 
his  chair.  The  negro  danced  lightly,  landing 
at  long  range.  He  was  a  tall,  muscular  fellow, 
black  as  the  proverbial  ace  of  spades.  As  Levy 
covered  up  and  backed  away,  a  great  desire 
to  quit  came  over  him,  but  the  idea  of  the  big 


40  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

purse  was  strong  enough  to  prevent  such  action 
—for  the  present,   at  least.     The  negro  con- 
tinued to  force  the  fighting,  and  Levy  continued 
to  stall  and  cover. 

"  Gwan  an'  fight! "  yelled  an  Irish  voice 
from  the  gallery. 

'  This  ain't  no  synagogue!  "  yelled  another, 
as  Levy  dropped  to  one  knee  to  avoid  a  right 
swing. 

The  first  round  ended,  much  to  Levy's  joy. 
He  had  an  eye  which  rivaled  Strauss's  and  was 
very  much  "  all  in."  He  wanted  really  to 
quit  now,  and  told  his  second  so,  but  that 
worthy  assured  him  he  had  to  fight  it  out  or 
he  would  be  mobbed.  With  this  comforting 
information  he  started  the  second  round. 

His  only  chance  was  to  stall  for  time,  and 
nobody  knew  that  better  than  Levy,  for  there 
was  no  chance  of  landing  a  blow  on  the  clever 
negro.  So  he  continued  to  run  away,  and  feint, 
and  fall,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  crowd. 
They  had  paid  to  see  a  fight,  not  a  foot-race,  so 
they  yelled  for  a  quick  finish. 

The  "  Black  Cyclone  "  decided  to  increase 
his  popularity  by  ending  the  battle.  Levy  had 
just  sidestepped  a  left  swing  and  found  himself 
in  one  corner.  The  negro  started  a  right 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  41 

uppercut.  Levy  ducked,  but  ran  into  the 
blow,  which  lifted  him  from  his  feet  and  de- 
posited him  in  a  heap. 

"  One — two — three — "  counted  the  referee, 
looking  at  his  watch. 

He  might  have  counted  a  hundred  for  all  that 
Levy  cared.  He  was  not  knocked  out  com- 
pletely, but  he  knew  he  soon  should  be  if  he 
got  up. 

"Ten!"  cried  the  referee,  and  the  house 
cheered  the  negro  and  hissed  the  Jew. 

Levy  got  up  and  staggered  to  his  dressing- 
room  alone.  If  he  had  won,  there  would  have 
been  plenty  to  help  him.  Before  a  broken 
mirror  he  cared  for  his  swollen  face  with  warm 
water.  Then  he  dressed  painfully,  for  his 
whole  body  ached.  As  he  was  about  to  go  out 
of  the  side  door  he  spied  the  negro  who  had 
beaten  him,  smoothing  the  crisp  ten  dollar  bill 
he  had  received  for  his  evening's  work. 

Whether  it  was  the  same  fate  which  ruled 
over  his  sister's  caller  fifteen  years  before,  is 
not  certain;  but  the  fact  is,  just  as  Levy  reached 
the  door  he  pulled  out  his  handkerchief  in  order 
to  wipe  the  blood  from  a  cut  over  his  left  eye, 
and — out  jumped  one  of  his  dice  on  the  floor. 
The  negro  saw  it  and  his  eyes  shone. 


42  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

"  Ef  you  got  any  money  you  want  to  lose, 
we'll  have  a  li'le  game,  boy,"  he  said. 

"  Sure  I  got  money,  but  I  won't  play  fer 
less'n  a  quarter  a  throw,"  and  Levy  placed  his 
lead  quarter  carefully  on  the  floor  so  as  not  to 
betray  its  baseness.  The  negro  placed  his 
money  alongside  of  it  and  the  game  started. 

Levy  seemed  to  have  a  special  control  over 
his  dice,  for  he  won,  and  won,  until  the  ten 
dollars  belonged  to  him.  Then  the  negro  fished 
in  his  pockets  and  brought  out  some  small 
change.  Levy  won  that,  too,  and  left  him 
standing  there  with  his  large  mouth  open  in 
genuine  negro  sorrow.  As  it  was  late,  he 
went  straight  home  and  to  bed  to  dream  of 
the  day's  events  distorted  in  the  manner 
characteristic  of  dreams.  And  not  least  prom- 
inent among  his  dreams  were  the  faces  of  Ruth 
and  her  sister,  Rose,  who  had  laughed  so 
merrily  at  his  discomfiture. 

He  woke  up  early  the  next  morning  still 
thinking  of  the  two  girls.  With  a  boldness 
prompted  by  his  sudden  acquisition  of  wealth, 
he  had  resolved  to  ask  one  to  marry  him. 
But  which?  They  were  both  fine-looking,  he 
thought.  Rose  especially  had  a  very  pretty 
way  of  raising  her  eyebrows;  but  her  sister 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  43 

was  more  quiet,  and,  if  he  was  not  mistaken, 
she  had  not  laughed  at  him  so  loudly  as  Rose. 
Another  crisis  had  come  into  his  small  world, 
and  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  decide  one 
way  or  the  other. 

Still  debating  with  himself  he  got  up,  and 
after  a  hasty  breakfast  started  out  on  the  street 
again.  At  the  corner  he  found  Strauss  evidently 
waiting  for  him.  Waldstein,  the  sporting  editor 
of  "  Wahrheit  ",  had  obtained  the  facts  of  last 
night's  fight  and  had  made  a  good  "  feature  " 
story  of  them.  Strauss  had  a  copy  of  the 
paper  and  showed  it  to  Levy.  One  whole 
column  was  devoted  to  telling  how  Levy  had 
lost  the  fight  but  had  won  the  prize  after  all, 
by  clever  use  of  the  dice.  Strauss  was  the  first 
to  congratulate  him. 

"  It  was  my  ticket  that  got  you  in/'  he  said 
by  way  of  a  reminder. 

"  Sure  thing!  "  said  Levy,  "  an'  it  was  me 
that  got  me  nose  an'  eye  punched."  Evi- 
dently he  could  not  see  Strauss's  point  of 
view. 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  wit  all  that 
money?  " 

"  I'm  thinkin'  of  gettin'  married,"  said  Levy. 

"  Who?  " 


44  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

"  One  of  them  goils  that  live  over  Giliano's 
fruit  store;  but  I'm  keepin'  it  secret." 

"  Which?  " 

"  I  dunno.  I  can't  decide,  but  it's  one  of 
them  all  right." 

Then  an  idea  struck  him.  He  seemed  to  be 
ruled  by  happy  thoughts.  He  produced  his 
dice.  They  had  acted  well  towards  him  all  his 
life,  and  especially  well  of  late.  Why  not  let 
them  decide  the  question? 

"Say,  Strauss,  if  I  roll  a  seven — no,  that 
wouldn't  be  right — if  I  roll  a  six  before  a  five, 
it's  Rose  I  marry;  if  the  five  comes  first,  it's 
Ruth." 

He  shook  the  dice  and  rolled,  while  Strauss 
looked  on  in  scornful  silence.  After  several 
throws  a  six  turned  up,  and  Levy  put  the  dice 
in  his  pocket.  A  great  weight  had  been  taken 
off  his  mind  and  he  felt  better. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  pay  me  fer  the  ticket  you 
swindled  me  out  of  last  night?  "  said  Strauss 
after  a  long  silence. 

"  No,  didn't  I  tell  you  I  won  it  fair  and 
square?"  replied  Levy. 

Again  Strauss  muttered  his  threat  to  "  get 
even  "  and  the  two  parted.  Levy  went  into 
a  candy  store  and  bought  two  cents  worth  of 


THE  DICE  DECIDE  45 

hard  candy.  Then  he  went  home  and  waited 
till  school  was  out.  When  his  little  brother 
came  in  he  met  him. 

"  Louie,  I'll  give  you  this  candy  if  you  will 
do  something  for  me,'*  he  said. 

The  boy  looked  longingly  at  the  candy  and 
then  suspiciously  at  his  big  brother.  "  What?" 
he  asked. 

"  Just  write  a  note  for  me.  It's  just  a  joke. 
Listen : 

'  Dear  Rose: — I  want  to  get  married  an'  I 
think  you  will  make  a  good  wife.  I  will  be 
aroun'  to  see  you  to-night.  From  one  who  loves 
you.  Abe  Levy.'  : 

Again  the  boy  looked  suspiciously  at  his 
brother,  and  again  Levy  assured  him  that  it 
was  only  a  joke,  and  that  he  would  tell  him  all 
about  it  some  time.  So  the  boy  wrote  the 
note;  and  Levy  took  it  and  dropped  it  into 
Rose's  letter-box,  after  carefully  seeing  that 
he  was  not  observed. 

That  afternoon  he  made  a  few  purchases — a 
red  necktie  and  scarfpin  to  match,  tan  shoes, 
and  a  straw  hat.  About  supper-time  one  of 
his  sisters  came  in  to  tell  him  that  he  was 
wanted  outside  by  Giliano's  boy  who  helped 
tend  the  fruit-stand.  Levy  went  out,  and  the 


46  THE  DICE  DECIDE 

little  Italian  told  him  very  seriously  that  the 
girl  upstairs  had  sent  him. 

"  She  say  you  no'  come  to-night.  She  no' 
lika  da  prize-fight'  if  he  no'  win;  you  no  good, 
you  never  coulda  win.  She  say  you  no'  play  a 
crap  for  her.  If  you  do,  you  losa  da  game." 

This  was  said  in  jerky  fashion,  but  Levy  got 
its  full  import  nevertheless.  The  solution 
flashed  upon  him  immediately:  "  That  dam' 
loafer,  Strauss,  he  told!" 

"  The  dice  won't  decide  his  fate!"  said  Levy, 
as  he  clenched  his  fists. 

R.  G.  CARTER. 


GOOD-BYE,  VERA' 


"GOOD-BYE,   VERA" 

IISS  VERA  CARISSON  and  her 
widowed  mother  had  been  among 
the  first  to  patronise  the  new  hotel. 
Mrs.  Carisson,  who  had  been  one  of 
New  York's  sublime  society  leaders  in  her 
younger  days,  was  loath  to  yield  to  old  Father 
Time;  and  was,  in  consequence,  "  hot-footing  " 
it  round  the  country  all  the  time — at  a  ball 
here,  at  a  tea  there,  and  in  the  social  gossip 
everywhere.  Her  daughter  was  a  constant 
source  of  disappointment  to  her,  for  to  Vera, 
the  ball,  the  hotel,  the  gay  whirl  and  swirl 
were  nothing  but  so  much  tommy-rot.  And 
the  society  men — Ugh!  she  loathed  them;  she 
called  them  the  third  sex,  "  the  afternoon  men." 
She  had  spurned  the  best  tango-dancer  in  the 
country,  in  consequence  of  which  her  mother 
nearly  went  to  a  sanitarium.  She  had  insulted 
earls  and  dukes;  she  had  tripped  up  a  Pitts- 
burgh millionaire  because  she  did  not  like  the 
way  he  danced;  she  was  absolutely  and  entirely 

49 


50  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

incorrigible.  But  let  it  not  be  inferred  that 
Vera  was  unfeeling  or  selfish.  On  the  con- 
trary she  resigned  herself  to  most  of  her  mother's 
ambitions  with  the  placidity  of  a  martyr;  she 
loved  her  mother  above  everyone  else  in  the 
world  and  was  never  happier  than  when  with 
her  on  some  quiet  ramble  or  motor-ride  through 
the  country. 

Mr.  Carisson  had  made  so  many  millions 
that  it  was  thought  he  had  lost  track  of  them 
himself.  The  greater  part  of  the  fortune  he 
had  left  to  his  wife,  to  be  Vera's  after  her 
mother's  death.  For  the  present,  rumor  had 
it,  he  had  bequeathed  to  the  girl  a  mere  six  or 
seven  million,  with  the  famdus  and  priceless 
"  Carisson  necklace,"  made  up  of  pearls  and 
diamonds,  studded  with  sapphires,  and  bound 
with  gold  and  platinum.  At  the  "  Ocean  Rock 
House,"  it  was  the  nightly  expectation  that 
Miss  Carisson  would  wear  the  gems  at  dinner, 
but  they  were  never  seen;  it  was  not  even 
known  whether  the  necklace  was  at  the  hotel  at 
all,  though  according  to  the  gossips,  Mrs.  Caris- 
son would  wear  them  herself  when  the  Count 
de  Pazi  arrived. 

From  the  moment  that  Johnston  had  first 
laid  eyes  on  Vera,  he  could  not  get  out  of  his 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  51 

mind  the  image  of  her  beautiful  face,  with  its 
crowning  mass  of  golden  hair,  its  blue  eyes, 
red  lips,  and  pink  cheeks.  It  was  always  before 
him,  a  constant  hindrance  to  the  concentration 
of  his  mind  on  his  work.  Even  now,  with  a 
thousand  and  one  tasks  to  perform,  his  gaze 
stole  through  the  palm-shadowed  orchestra, 
through  the  large  windows  and  doors,  through 
the  flowered  glass  piazzas,  out  to  the  drive  and 
away  on  the  empty  road,  winding  off  like  a 
ribbon  into  the  centre  of  the  ugly,  oncoming 
storm-cloud.  Vera  had  gone  out  motoring,  driv- 
ing the  car  herself;  and  the  young  clerk  had 
taken  it  upon  himself  to  feel  rather  uneasy. 
Mrs.  Carisson  was  in  her  room  resting.  Enter- 
taining no  anxiety  for  her  daughter  at  any  time, 
she  resented  other  people's  asking  about  her, 
and  her  rage  would  have  been  truly  awful,  if, 
upon  this  occasion,  she  had  known  that  a  hotel- 
clerk  even  thought  of  Vera,  whether  for  her 
welfare  or  her  personality.  Such  people  as 
clerks  were  in  the  world  to  work,  not  to  think, 
especially  not  to  think  of  their  betters ;  people 
must  be  taught  to  keep  in  their  places. 

It  was  a  close,  overcast  July  evening.  The 
clouds,  which  had  been  growing  thicker  and 
blacker  since  noon,  were  spreading  out  and 


52  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

gathering  in  density  and  gloom.  Already  large 
drops  of  rain  had  begun  to  fall  and  the  vapor 
was  heavy  in  the  air.  Flashes  of  lightning 
illuminated  the  growing  darkness  with  more 
and  more  brilliancy;  and  the  rushing  wind 
sprang  up  before  the  storm.  The  rumbling 
peals  of  thunder  gathered  themselves  into  a 
mighty  crash;  it  became  inky  dark,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  downpour  of  rain  was  violent. 

The  hotel  motor-boats,  private  sailing  craft, 
fishing  parties,  and  belated  bathers,  all  made  for 
the  landings  and  bath-houses.  A  stream  of 
sportsmen  and  sportswomen  flowed  into  the 
big  hall,  stopping  before  the  desk  to  discuss  the 
weather.  Golf,  tennis,  motoring,  sailing,  bath- 
ing, croquet,  all  the  summer  sports  had  their 
representatives  there  in  bedraggled  parapher- 
nalia. The  stay-at-homes  were  there  too,  talk- 
ing the  loudest,  especially  about  what  they 
would  do  if  it  were  not  for  the  storm. 

The  clerk  attracted  many  sly  female  glances, 
and  forced  a  few  admiring  male  ones.  He 
gazed  back  at  the  throng  with  a  curiosity  mixed 
with  contempt;  he  disliked  the  whole  lot  of 
them.  One  young  man,  tall  and  spare,  who 
seemed  to  be  talking  louder  than  the  rest, 
who  was  decidedly  flashy  in  appearance,  and 


"  GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  53 

who  kept  continually  watching  Johnston,  pro- 
voked him  openly.  Approaching  the  desk  the 
man  asked  whether  Miss  Carisson  had  returned 
yet.  Johnston  paid  no  attention,  and  the  loud- 
mouthed gentleman,  whose  name  was  Defrau, 
repeated  the  question. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge/'  replied  Johnston 
coldly. 

The  sharp  ring  of  the  telephone  bell  cut  short 
any  remark  the  questioner  might  venture  for 
the  edification  of  the  on-lookers.  Johnston 
angrily  unhooked  the  receiver. 

' '  Hello,  hello!"  He  received  the  plaintive 
query  for  his  number.  "  No,  no  number,"  he 
thundered.  "  You  rang  the  bell  here.  All 
right,  all  right;  I'll  hold  the  line.  Hello!  " 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  Ocean  Rock  House." 

"  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Johnston." 

"  Oh,  good  heavens!  Miss  Carisson!  I'll 
send  a  machine  right  down.  I'm  very  sorry 
you're  in  such  a  plight." 

"No,  Mrs.  Carisson  shall  know  nothing  about 
it.  Good-bye.' 

Johnston  turned  hurriedly  to  the  assistant 
bookkeeper.  "  Mr.  Carper,  will  you  please 
look  after  the  office  a  minute?  "  Not  waiting 
for  a  reply,  he  seized  his  hat,  escaped  through 


54  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

a  side  door,  and  did  a  "  440  "  in  record  time  out 
to  the  big  garage.  Breathless  and  soaked,  he 
arrived  before  the  startled  chauffeurs  as  if 
hurled  by  a  bolt  from  the  latest  crash  of 
thunder.  "  Jack,  Tom,  Harry,  anybody,  quick; 
get  me  a  car,  anything."  The  group  regarded 
him  stolidly  and  no  one  moved.  Johnston 
roared  at  them,  and  one  automaton  pointed 
to  a  hotel  taxi.  To  ask  for  further  aid,  in- 
formation, or  service  of  any  kind  was  out  of 
the  question,  especially  out-of-doors,  on  such 
a  night.  Johnston  made  for  the  car,  jumped 
in,  started  the  motor  himself,  and  having  got 
somebody  to  open  the  garage  door  by  continued 
yelling  and  gesticulating,  he  drove  the  machine 
out  on  the  road. 

Vera  Carisson  had  said  shortly  and  concisely 
that  her  car  had  run  out  of  gasoline,  that  she 
could  get  none,  and  so  was  stuck  by  a  farm-house 
ten  miles  from  the  hotel  on  the  Granville  road. 
She  had  also  said  that  she  must  get  back  by 
dinner-time.  To  say  that  Johnston  was  elated 
at  the  prospect  of  rescuing  this  certain  person 
would  be  to  rate  his  state  of  feeling  much  too 
low.  Words  could  not  express  his  mingled 
emotions,  as  he  leaned  forward  and  drove  the 
machine  at  break-neck  speed  through  the  rivers 


"GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  55 

and  pools  of  mud.  Skidding  and  sliding, 
bouncing  and  jolting,  the  little  landaulet  tore 
through  the  storm;  not  a  light  was  lighted, 
not  a  thing  could  the  driver  see  before  him;  it 
was  a  mad  race. 

After  fifteen  minutes  Johnston  espied  two 
dim  lights  wavering  before  him  in  the  darkness. 
He  was  upon  them  in  a  moment,  nearly  smash- 
ing both  machines  in  the  skidding  of  his  car. 
Having  successfully  come  to  a  stop,  however,  he 
alighted  and  splashed  through  the  puddles 
to  the  big  runabout  at  the  side  of  the  road. 
The  top  was  up  and  the  machine,  to  all  appear- 
ances, was  deserted.  Johnston's  feelings  sank, 
and  his  clothes  seemed  horribly  wet  and  annoy- 
ing. Suddenly  his  spirits  rose,  his  clothes  were 
merely  wet,  for  a  female  voice  called  out, 
"  Bring  over  the  gasoline  with  you." 

The  clerk  was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer,  for 
he  had  no  more  thought  of  gasoline  than  of 
aeroplanes.  He  paused;  then  lifting  his  hat 
to  the  darkness,  he  approached  the  machine. 

Vera  was  a  brave  young  woman  ordinarily, 
but  this  was  a  dark  night,  a  fearful  storm,  and 
a  very  unfamiliar-looking,  shadowy  man. 
Johnston  felt  rather  than  saw  the  terror  he  was 
inspiring,  so  he  called  out: 


56  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

"  Miss  Carisson,  this  is  Mr.  Johnston,  Cecil 
Johnston.  I  have  come  for  you  in  a  taxi." 
Then  after  a  pause,  in  which  nothing  was  heard 
but  the  rattle  of  the  engine  and  the  patter  of 
the  rain,  "  I  quite  forgot  the  gasoline;"  then, 
"  it  is  now  about  half  past  seven."  Another 
silence,  and  Johnston  was  beginning  to  feel  he 
was  decidedly  "  in  wrong,"  when  the  side 
curtains  on  the  runabout  were  flung  back  and 
he  saw  Vera's  slight  form  step  gingerly  into  the 
road.  He  instinctively  went  forward  and  offered 
his  arm,  which  was  not  rejected. 

"  I  couldn't  get  those  chauffeurs  to  do  any- 
thing," he  explained;  "they  looked  at  me  as 
if  they  thought  I  was  crazy." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come;  it  must 
have  been  an  awful  bother." 

Johnston  muttered  something  about  no 
bother,  and  fervently  wished  he  might  be  so 
bothered  all  his  life.  He  opened  the  door  of  the 
landaulet,  but  Vera  stepped  past  and  climbed 
into  the  front  seat.  Johnston  slammed  the 
door  and  bounded  joyfully  up  beside  her  at  the 
wheel;  he  threw  in  the  clutch  and  the  car 
started  forward.  About  a  hundred  yards  ahead 
was  a  long  curve,  where  the  road  widened 
considerably.  Cecil  intended  to  make  for  this 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  57 

and  turn  round  without  backing.  The  machine 
had  hardly  gathered  headway  when  a  "  klaxon  " 
screech  warned  them  of  the  approach  of  another 
car;  but  which  direction  the  sound  came  from 
Johnston  could  not  tell.  In  a  minute,  however, 
the  brilliance  of  the  searchlights  and  a  timely 
flash  of  lightning  discovered  Henry  Defrau's 
big  red  touring-car  bearing  down  on  them  from 
in  front.  The  flash  revealed  the  landaulet, 
and  the  touring-car  came  to  a  stop  not  any  too 
soon.  Vera  uttered  a  faint  scream  and  clutched 
Johnston's  sleeve.  That  gentleman  was  gazing 
ahead  with  a  quizzical  expression  at  Defrau 
himself  who  had  climbed  out  and  was  approach- 
ing them.  Johnston  leaned  out  and  squinted 
at  the  newcomer. 

"  Mr.  Defrau,  there  is  nothing  for  you  to 
pick  here;  will  you  please  move  your  car  out 
of  the  way?" 

Defrau  paused  as  if  astounded;  Johnston 
continued:  "  We  will  wait  I  think,"  he  said 
distinctly,  "  until  another  time.'* 

"  Is  that  Johnston,  the  clerk,  and  Miss 
Carisson?  Why,  my  gracious,  Miss  Carisson, 
get  right  into  my  car."  Defrau  laid  a  firm 
grip  on  Vera's  sleeve,  but  she  withdrew  her  arm 
and  declined  his  invitation.  Defrau  insisted 


58  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

and  grew  rougher  and  ruder.     Johnston  appar- 
ently could  stand  it  no  longer. 

"  Get  off  that  running  board,  Defrau,  or  I'll 
knock  you  off."  His  teeth  were  set,  and  Vera 
vaguely  thought  of  him  in  those  big  college 
football  games  that  she  had  overheard  him 
describing  to  Mr.  Dobbs,  the  manager  of  the 
hotel.  "  Did  you  hear  what  I  said,  Defrau?  " 
Johnston  looked  steadily  at  the  intruder  with 
a  studied  calm. 

"  Oh,  you  go  to  Hell,"  said  Defrau  angrily. 

Johnston  rose  and  levelled  a  blow  at  the 
would-be  hero's  head.  His  fist  seemed  to  the 
girl  to  miss  its  mark,  for  there  was  no  sound 
of  impact;  but  Defrau  reeled  back,  staggered 
theatrically,  and  fell  heavily.  Johnston  imme- 
diately got  out,  went  to  him,  and  found  him 
apparently  only  a  little  dazed,  for  after  some 
hasty  words,  Johnston  helped  him  to  his 
machine,  which  he  drove  off  with  seeming  ease. 
The  clerk  returned  to  the  landaulet,  but  hardly 
dared  look  at  Miss  Carisson,  fearful  of  the  worst. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  simply,  breaking  the 
silence  when  he  had  turned  the  car  round  and 
they  were  speeding  homewards;  "thank  you 
very  much;  that  is  the  third  time  he  has  an- 
noyed me  since  I  have  known  him." 


"GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  59 

"  It  is,  is  it!"  thought  Johnston  to  himself, 
T)ut  aloud  he  said  he  had  done  nothing,  and 
should  be  glad  of  the  chance  to  serve  her  in  any 
way  he  could  at  any  future  time.  For  the 
remainder  of  the  ride,  they  talked  of  the  hotel 

picnic  which  was  to  take  place  the  next  day. 

****** 

Mrs.  Carisson  reproached  her  daughter  for 
staying  out  so  late,  and  Mr.  Dobbs  politely 
requested  Mr.  Johnston  not  to  take  so  long  at 
his  dinner  hereafter.  Defrau  apparently  chose 
to  keep  the  affair  to  himself. 

There  is  nothing  like  a  secret  to  bring  two 
people  together.  Vera  was  undeniably  at- 
tracted to  Johnston,  and  as  the  days  passed 
and  she  saw  more  and  more  of  him,  the  attrac- 
tion, so  admirably  and  deservedly  inspired  by 
his  automobile  rescue  and  behavior  that  first 
night,  ripened  into  affection.  She  had  delighted 
in  the  way  he  had  punched  Defrau,  who,  by 
the  way,  had  been  more  obnoxious  than  ever 
since  that  time;  she  had  admired  his  modesty 
and  polite  reserve,  and  had  envied  his  abilities 
to  do  things — even  the  tango.  She  had  come 
to  look  upon  him  as  her  protector  against 
Defrau.  It  had  not  taken  long  for  Mrs.  Caris- 
son's  discerning  eye  to  note  that  something  was 


60  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

wrong.  Like  a  hawk  she  followed  her  prey  to 
the  lair,  and  what  a  lair!  Behind  the  hotel 
desk;  the  clerk!  Her  first  impulse  was  to 
leave  the  place  at  once,  but  then  she  could  not, 
for  this  would  be  recognising  the  attention  of 
the  clerk  to  her  own  daughter;  and  besides,  the 
Count  de  Pazi  was  coming.  No,  she  must  have 
the  clerk  removed.  She  conceived  a  terrible 
hatred  for  Johnston  and  was  always  smiling, 
within  earshot,  when  he  suffered  every  evening 
the  loud  persecutions  of  Defrau;  and  Defrau 
seemed  to  delight  in  making  himself  objection- 
able, especially  to  Miss  Carisson,  who  was 
rescued  time  and  again  by  Johnston,  whether 
on  the  beach,  on  the  walk,  in  the  motor-boat, 
or  at  the  dance.  Mrs.  Carisson  rather  liked 
Defrau;  he  was  reputed  rich,  was  young  and 
handsome,  and  was  said  to  be  a  great  favorite 
in  Washington.  She  was  never  tired  of  hearing 
him  nag  Johnston;  she  laughed  when  he  made 
fun  of  colleges;  she  smiled  knowingly  and  with 
girlish  ease  when  he  hinted  that  some  people 
nowadays  did  not  seem  to  know  their  place  in 
this  world;  "  but  perhaps  they  will,"  he  always 
added  with  a  wink,  "  in  the  next."  In  short, 
by  the  end  of  the  month  things  had  come  to 
a  pretty  pass.  Vera  was  openly  in  love  with 


"GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  61 

her  constant  protector,  the  handsome  hotel- 
clerk,  yet  pestered  by  rich  and  idle  hotel  guests; 
her  mother  was  losing  her  self-control  over  the 
affair;  and  Mr.  Dobbs  was  at  a  loss  how  to 
rid  himself  of  Johnston,  who  was  undeniably 
an  attraction,  and  who  went  calmly  on,  oblivi- 
ous of  all  the  havoc  he  was  raising,  and  of  the 
persecutions  of  the  distracted  mother  and 
Defrau. 

It  was  one  evening  a  fortnight  or  so  after  the 
automobile  affair  that  Defrau  brought  the  hos- 
tility to  a  climax.  In  his  usual  jaunty,  debonair 
way  he  accosted  his  prey  after  dinner. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Johnston,  where  have  you  been 
to-day?  Some  jolly  little  boating-party  no 
doubt;  ha,  ha!  I  think  the  bell-boys  here  do 
more  work  than  you." 

Johnston  was  busily  engaged  in  making  out  a 
cash  record  for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  in  plac- 
ing bills  away  in  neat  piles  in  the  drawers  of 
the  big  safe.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the 
remarks.  Defrau  was  about  to  venture  further, 
when  a  dapper  little  gentleman  in  creamy 
flannels  laid  a  warning  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  man,  "if  I  were  you  I  would 
desist;  there  is  a  limit  to  human  endurance, 
you  know." 


62  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

Defrau  was  dumfounded,  he  had  never  seen 
the  fellow  before  in  his  life!  "  What  the 
devil — ?  "  he  gasped. 

The  stranger  smiled,  exhibiting  several  large 
gold  teeth.  "  Never  mind  Mr.  Defrau."  Then 
leaning  over  the  desk,  "  Mr.  Johnston,  I  am 
Nevius,  Arthur  Nevius.  I'm  general  manager 
of  the  Old  Colony  Hotel  Syndicate;  now  we're 
running  four  places,  but  we  don't  think  they're 
going  to  pay;  if  you  could  give  me  some  idea 
of  your  earnings  up  to  date — let  me  inside  your 
safe  here  for  a  minute  or  two,  so  to  speak,  I 
should  be  ever  so  much  obliged." 

He  turned  almost  fiercely  on  Defrau,  "  I  guess 
you  know  me  now,  eh — Nevius  of  the  Green 
Beach  House?  "  His  eyes  were  glittering,  his 
mouth,  under  his  pudgy  cheeks,  was  drawn  up 
with  a  sneer. 

The  effect  upon  Defrau  was  evidently  con- 
trary to  his  expectations,  for  that  astonished 
gentlemen  looked  at  him  coldly  a  moment,  then 
quickly  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

"Well  I'll  be  damned,"  said  the  little  man; 
then  in  a  voice  loud  enough  for  the  by-standers 
to  hear:  "  I  could  tell  you  more  about  that  man 
than  he  wants  known,  when  he  and  I—  '  but 
he  evidently  thought  better  of  it  and  closed  his 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  63 

mouth  with  a  defiant  snap.  "  I  may  be  wrong, 
though/'  he  muttered  and  gazed  about  rather 
sharply. 

Mr.  Nevius  was  not  an  attractive  person. 
He  was  extremely  short.  What  little  hair  he 
had  was  a  faded  yellow  and  brushed  straight 
back;  his  eyes  were  of  a  misty  baby  blue,  pig- 
like  and  continually  shifting  uneasily  and  fur- 
tively. He  wore  a  white  flannel  suit,  a  straw 
hat  thrust  casually  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  a  pair  of  immaculate  white  shoes. 

He  aroused  in  Johnston  the  feeling  he  aroused 
in  most  people — repugnance.  "  I'm  sorry,  Mr. 
Nevius,"  he  said  in  his  most  suave,  yet  apolo- 
getic voice,  "  but  Mr.  Dobbs,  the  manager,  is 
in  New  York  just  at  present,  and  I  hardly  like 
to  take  upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  com- 
municating the  hotel's  private  affairs  in  his 
absence,  and  without  his  permission." 

"  Certainly,  certainly;  you're  quite  right; 
I  understand  perfectly.  When  will  Mr.  Dobbs 
be  back?  "  Nevius  spoke  in  the  quiet,  almost 
subdued  voice,  that  suggests  at  least  a  little 
refinement. 

"  He'll  be  back  the  day  after  to-morrow  in 
the  morning." 

"Ah,  does  he  go  away  often?" 


64  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

"  No,  this  is  the  first  time  he  has  been  away. 
He  usually  is  here  at  the  desk  in  the  evening 
to  lock  up  for  the  night." 

"  Thank  you;  I'll  wait  over  for  him  then,  I 
guess."  He  bowed  and  moved  off  toward  the 
crowded  ball-room. 

Vera,  usually  with  Johnston  at  the  dance  in 
the  evening,  now  walked  up  to  the  desk.  She 
had  escaped  from  the  ball-room  and  her  mother, 
and  had  been  idly  standing  by  during  the  con- 
versation with  Nevius. 

The  young  clerk  thought  he  had  never  seen 
her,  or  anyone,  more  beautiful  than  she  was 
that  night;  and  he  told  her  so.  She  blushed 
prettily,  and  the  cause  of  it  had  a  hard  time  to 
keep  himself  from  flinging  away  his  bank  notes, 
leaping  over  the  desk,  and  taking  her  in  his 
arms.  He  had  a  mad  passion  to  place  just 
one  long,  sublime  kiss  upon  her  lips,  to  fold 
her  to  his  bosom,  to  drink  now  of  that  vast  and 
mighty  tonic  of  love  with  which  he  hoped,  per- 
haps, some  day  to  intoxicate  himself. 

She  came  nearer  and  leaned  her  elbows  on 
the  desk;  he  could  feel  her  soft  breath;  he 
trembled,  he  grew  dizzy;  she  leaned  nearer; 
he  lost  all  self-command. 

"  Vera,"  he  gasped,  "  Vera;   my  God,  I  love 


"  GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  65 

you!"  She  was  misty  before  his  eyes,  he 
seemed  to  be  standing  on  space.  Their  lips 
met. 

The  girl  recoiled.  "  No,  no,  Cecil,  not  here." 
She  looked  fearfully  around  and  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief  at  the  empty  hall.  She  started  to  go, 
but  he  grasped  her  hand.  She  bent  toward 
him.  "  I  love  you,  Cecil,"  she  whispered  with 
lowered  eyes,  "  I  have  loved  you  ever  since— 
since  that  night  in  the  storm." 

"  I'm  glad  that  happened,"  he  said  smiling; 
"  I  should  never  have  got  to  know  you  but  for 
that." 

"  I'm  glad,  too;"  she  said  simply.  Then 
after  a  pause,  "  When  did  you  say  you  had  to 
go  back  to  college,  Cecil?" 

"  Why  worry  about  that,  dearest?  "  He 
ventured  the  appellation  with  some  misgiving, 
but  received  not  so  much  even  as  a  reproachful 
look. 

"  Because  Mother  and  I  leave  the  first  of 
August,  and  I  think  we're  coming  back  in  Sep- 
tember." A  pause.  "  Count  de  Pazi  has  post- 
poned his  visit  until  then,  you  know,"  she  added 
with  a  sad  little  smile. 

"  I  leave  about  the  fifteenth,"  he  said,  his 
voice  getting  husky  in  spite  of  himself.  "  My 


66  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

college  is  a  small  Western  college  and  I  have  a 
long  way  to  go." 

A  wistful  look  came  into  her  eyes.  "  We  shall 
see  each  other  often  before  I  go?  " 

"  We  shall,"  he  acquiesced,  and  pressed  her 
hand.  "  Often,  very  often,  I  hope." 

They  were  standing  thus,  lost  in  their  happi- 
ness, hand  in  hand,  when  Mrs.  Carisson  burst 
upon  them,  a  veritable  cyclone  of  wrath. 
Where  she  had  come  from  neither  of  them 
knew;  the  chances  are  that  she  was  behind  one 
of  the  large  marble  pillars  close  at  hand.  She 
was  so  angry  that  she  literally  choked  with 
wrath;  she  could  not  find  a  single  word  with 
which  to  express  herself;  she  just  stood  and 
glared. 

Johnston  carefully  removed  all  projectiles 
out  of  her  reach,  such  as  ink  bottles  and  pens; 
if  she  had  had  a  gun,  nobody's  life  would  have 
been  worth  the  dust  in  the  road.  Yet  Mrs. 
Carisson  really  did  remarkably  well  for  her, 
for  when  she  found  words,  she  merely  said: 
"  Vera  Carisson,  come  at  once."  Her  actions 
belied  her  frigid  calm,  for  she  seized  the  girl's 
arm  and  dragged  her  away  so  roughly  that 
Johnston  nearly  knocked  her  down.  To  make 
matters  worse,  Vera's  last  glimpse  of  the  office 


"GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  67 

showed  her  Defrau's  cynical,  diabollically  leer- 
ing face.  He  was  leaning  with  his  usual 
aggressive  attitude  towards  Johnston,  and 
seemed  to  be  contemplating  his  evening  sport 
with  great  expectation  of  enjoyment. 

A  wide-eyed,  open-mouthed  group  of  bell- 
boys, maids,  and  valets  were  clustered  round 
the  key-hole  of  Room  No.  67.  One  by  one 
they  had  taken  up  their  positions  since  Mrs. 
Carisson  and  her  daughter  had  entered,  and 
they  stayed  until  nearly  midnight,  relays  acting 
as  informing  parties.  They  were  entertained 
in  a  very  unusual  and  sensational  manner,  no 
less  than  by  a  young  lady's  insisting  that  she 
loved  a  young  man,  and  keeping  on  insisting 
it,  in  spite  of  an  irascible  and  domineering 
mother's  decided  and  loud  opposition.  Such 
bits  as:  "  Horrible — Ridiculous — Socially  Noth- 
ing;" and  "Socially  Ruined — Ghastly — Conse- 
quences— Fool,"  and  many  other  uncompli- 
mentary things  floated  out  even  as  far  as  the 
head  of  the  grand  stairway.  The  result  of 
the  matter  was  that  the  mother  gained  nothing 
but  the  knowledge  that  her  only  daughter, 
her  one  hopeful,  was  madly  in  love,  and  deter- 
mined to  have  her  own  way  for  once. 

The  girl  at  last  flung  herself  out  of  the  room 


68  k"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

where  her  mother  stood  flushed  and  hot,  breath- 
less from  long  harangues  and  vain  arguments. 
Mrs.  Carisson  remained  motionless  while  her 
daughter,  sobbing,  moved  about  in  the  next 
room.  Presently  Vera  reappeared,  framed  in 
the  doorway,  a  picture  of  beautiful  defiance; 
and  on  her  slender  neck  glistened  the  gems  of 
the  priceless  necklace. 

Mr.  Carisson  had  stated  in  his  will,  among 
other  conditions,  that  Vera  should  not  be 
allowed  to  wear  the  famous  necklace  until  she 
was  engaged.  That  Vera  should  put  it  on 
now  was  the  final  renunciation  of  maternal 
influence;  it  was  the  last  and  conclusive  blow 
at  the  mother's  pride.  She  must  either  accept 
or  disown  her  daughter. 

"  Vera,  Vera,"  she  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of 
conflicting  emotions,  "  Vera,  what  has  got  into 
you?  Why  are  you  acting  in  this  way?" 

"  Because  I  love  him,  Mother."  The  girl 
threw  back  her  head.  "  I  love  him  and  intend 
to  marry  him."  There  followed  a  long  silence, 
both  women  breathing  hard.  The  climax  had 
come  and  passed;  the  daughter  turned  abruptly 
and  went  back  to  her  bed-room,  not  trusting 
herself  to  speak.  It  had  been  a  battle  royal, 
the  crucial  struggle  for  the  power  of  ruling; 


"GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  69 

if  the  younger  had  lost  she  would  have  been  a 
a  life-long  captive;  she  had  won  and  so  declared 
her  independence  forever. 

Still  she  was  trembling  violently.  A  feeling 
of  having  wronged  herself  and  her  mother  crept 
over  her,  a  feeling  of  despair  crying  for  relief 
and  comfort.  There  was  only  one  person  who 
could  satisfy  this,  and  so  blindly  she  threw  open 
the  door  of  her  room  and  stepped  into  the  hall. 
Just  what  she  intended  to  do  she  did  not  know 
herself;  vaguely  she  wanted  Johnston,  wanted 
to  tell  him,  to  be  calmed  by  his  masterful  voice. 
She  gained  her  wish  so  quickly  that  it  startled 
her,  not  to  say  him,  for  he  was  at  that  precise 
moment  on  his  way  to  bed.  She  appeared  so 
suddenly,  so  radiant  in  her  natural,  even  if 
tearful  beauty,  and  in  the  glittering  enhance- 
ment of  the  gems  at  her  throat,  that  the  young 
man  was  obliged  to  put  his  hand  on  the  wall 
to  steady  himself. 

"  Vera,"  he  gasped,  "  What  on  earth—?  " 
She  stood  for  a  second  irresolute,  then  turned 
and  fled;  like  a  glistening,  jewelled  fairy  she 
had  come  and  gone  before  him.  He  had  seen 
the  necklace — though  in  ignorance,  of  course, 
of  its  purport;  he  had  been  the  first  man  ever 
to  see  her  wear  it,  and  in  consequence  she  was, 


70  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

by  the  will  of  a  dead  father,  to  be  his  wife ;  the 
Fates  had  ordained  it.  With  a  feeling  of  uncon- 
trolled happiness  she  tossed  off  her  jewels  and 
clothes,  and  flung  herself  into  bed. 

Vera  lay  a  long  time  with  no  inclination  for 
sleep.  She  tossed  and  turned,  she  fretted  and 
cried;  she  was  losing  a  mother  to  gain  a  hus- 
band, whose  face  was  ever  before  her — young, 
handsome,  strong,  and  kindly.  She  went  over 
in  her  mind  all  his  actions,  all  the  times  she 

had  been  with  him,  had  seen  him,  had .  Her 

mind  became  a  muddle  of  recollections,  her 
thoughts  strayed  far;  she  drifted  off  into  sweet 
slumber. 

She  was  on  a  far-away  island  and  he  was  by 
her  side;  they  were  standing  hand  in  hand 
gazing  at  a  mountain.  Suddenly  the  moun- 
tain exploded;  there  was  a  tremendous  crash, 
and  from  everywhere  funny  little  people  all  in 
white  came  running  and  screaming  toward 
her. 

"Vera,  Vera,  Vera;"  a  hundred  voices  took 
up  the  cry,  and  Vera  opened  her  eyes  to  see  a 
multitude  of  figures  gathered  about  the  bed, 
peering  at  her  with  startled  looks.  "Vera, 
are  you  hurt?  " 

"  Hurt?  "     The  girl  started  up,  her  golden 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  71 

hair  falling  in  profusion  over  her  milky  neck 
and  shoulders.     "  What  has  happened?  " 

"  A  burglary — murder — a  robbery — thief — ;" 
they  all  had  their  own  tales  to  tell  and  would 
have  smothered  the  girl,  had  not  a  strong  hand 
pushed  them  back.  Johnston,  a  revolver  in 
one  hand,  forced  his  way  to  the  bedside.  His 
eyes  sought  for  the  merest  fraction  of  a  second, 
but  only  that,  the  astonished  figure  in  the  bed. 

"  Get  out,"  he  cried  to  the  throng;  "  get 
out,  quick;  the  whole  of  you."  The  male 
portion  of  the  gathering  had  had  the  tact  to 
withdraw  earlier,  but  the  females,  as  usual, 
were  harder  to  deal  with.  They  went  reluc- 
tantly one  by  one.  Johnston  was  everywhere- 
commanding,  directing,  and  always  obeyed. 

Vera,  dumfounded,  withdrew  as  far  as  possi- 
ble under  the  coverlets  and  listened  to  the 
hubbub  in  amazement.  Eventually  the  noise 
subsided;  the  people  were  cleared;  and  the 
listener  cautiously  peeped  over  the  sheets. 

In  the  doorway  stood  Mrs.  Carisson  in  a 
wrapper,  malignantly  glaring  at  Cecil  Johnston, 
who  stood  with  his  chin  in  his  hand,  a  heavy 
dressing-gown  thrown  over  his  shoulders  and 
an  unusually  troubled  look  on  his  face.  At 
his  feet  lay  the  body  of  a  man  in  white 


72  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

flannels.  The  silence  was  awful.  At  last  the 
woman  in  the  door  raised  her  arm  and  pointed 
to  the  hall. 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "  go  at  once,  murderer.'' 

"  Madam,"  Johnston  bowed  humbly.  "  I 
cannot.  I  must  stay  by  this  body."  He 
paused.  "  I  will  leave  for  a  minute,  however, 
until  Miss  Carisson  can  go  into  another  room." 
He  left  the  women  to  themselves  and  to  the 
horrible  thing. 

Vera  had  given  but  a  cursory  glance  at  the 
man  in  white,  hardly  realising  even  that  he  was 
dead.  As  she  got  out  of  bed,  however,  the  full 
horror  of  the  corpse  came  upon  her.  A  stream 
of  blackish  blood  ran  over  one  of  his  cheeks, 
forming  a  puddle  on  the  floor;  his  hair  was 
matted  on  that  side,  rumpled  on  the  other; 
his  face  was  twisted  into  an  uncouth  grimace. 
In  the  fleeting  glance  the  girl  gave  as  she 
rushed  from  the  room  she  recognised  the  Hotel 
Syndicate  Manager  whom  she  had  seen  talking 
to  Johnston,  Mr.  Nevius. 

For  the  next  hour  three  maids  with  the  help 
of  Vera  endeavored  to  calm  her  mother,  who  had 
promptly  fainted  at  seeing  her  daughter  safe 
and  sound  before  her  again.  In  the  meantime, 
Blarney,  the  house  detective,  and  Johnston 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  73 

were  going  over  the  situation  in  the  next 
room. 

"  What  led  you  to  suspect  this  man,  Mr. 
Johnston?  "  Blarney  asked. 

"  Well,  you  see  it  was  this  way;"  Johnston 
sat  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  and  looked  thought- 
fully at  the  priceless  Carisson  necklace  which 
he  had  picked  up  from  the  floor.  "  The  fellow 
came  up  to  me  this  evening  and  wanted  to 
know  just  how  much  cash  we  had  taken  in  so 
far  this  season,  said  he  was  a  hotel  syndicate 
manager  or  something  or  other;  he  was  very 
anxious  about  the  safe  downstairs  and  had  a 
funny,  shifty  kind  of  look.  I  told  him  I  felt 
I  had  no  right  to  give  him  any  information  in 
Mr.  Dobbs's  absence." 

"  Quite  right;"  Blarney  produced  a  cigar 
and  lit  it. 

"  He  went  away,  but  I  kept  thinking  of  him; 
I  didn't  like  his  looks;  I  rather  wanted  to  see 
him  again  and  get  more  explanation.  After 
the  dance,  about  12:30,  when  everybody  had 
gone  upstairs,  I  turned  out  the  lights  and  locked 
up.  I  went  to  my  room,  got  undressed  and  into 
bed.  Somehow  I  couldn't  sleep,  I  was  restless; 
Nevius's  face  kept  popping  into  my  head  and 
worrying  me.  Suddenly  I  had  a  strong  idea 


74  "  GOOD-BYE,   VERA  " 

that  he  meant  to  rob  the  safe;  this  grew  until 
it  became  an  obsession;  I  felt  sure  that  he  was 
even  then  at  work.  I  threw  on  my  dressing- 
gown,  took  my  gun,  and  went  quietly  down  the 
back  stairs.  I  came  through  the  back  hall, 
by  the  glass  piazza  there,  and  so  around  to  the 
office.  My  instinct  had  told  me  right,  but 
apparently  too  late.  The  safe  was  open  and 
the  money  gone.  Just  then  I  happened  to 
look  up.  There  he  was,  standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  listening.  I  kept  still;  he  seemed 
satisfied  and  crept  forward;  I  followed  him, 
and  we  went  up.  He  came  quietly  down  the 
corridor  till  he  was  before  this  door;  here  he 
stopped,  listened,  unlocked  the  door  with  that 
key  there,"  Johnston  pointed  to  a  key  lying 
on  the  floor  near  the  dead  man's  head,  "  and 
came  in.  I  wanted  to  catch  him  red-handed, 
so  I  waited  until  he  had  disappeared;  then 
I  crawled  in  after  him  on  my  hands  and  knees. 
He  evidently  knew  this  necklace  was  here  in 
the  house,  and  didn't  have  to  look  far  for  its 
hiding-place,  for  it  was  on  the  floor.  I  saw  it 
glistening  in  the  dark  almost  before  he  did. 
He  picked  it  up,  and  I  saw  him  turn;  the  next 
instant  I  knew  he  must  have  seen  me,  for  I  saw 
his  gun  move.  Then  I  fired.  I  was  shooting 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  75 

from  below  and  got  him  first  crack  there  in  the 
temple.  He  fell  like  a  log.  Of  course  the  whole 
hotel  was  roused,  and  I  did  my  best  to  spare 
Miss  Carisson,  who  had  been  peacefully  sleep- 
ing through  the  whole  thing." 

Johnston  and  Blarney  sat  contemplating  the 
dead  man  before  them. 

"  Well,  Johnston,  you  did  the  only  thing  you 
could  do  under  the  circumstances;"  the  detec- 
tive said  after  a  pause.  "  You  are  to  be  con- 
gratulated upon  the  whole." 

"  I  hate  to  have  the  poor  devil's  blood  on  my 
hands,  though."  The  younger  man  arose. 
'  Well,  now  that  you've  officially  seen  the  lay  of 
the  land,  we'd  better  have  this  removed  at 
once.  Of  course  this  will  have  to  be  entirely 
hushed  up." 

"  Dobbs  will  be  crazy;  you'll  have  to  go 
easy,  Johnston." 

The  clerk  nodded  rather  grimly;  the  pros- 
pect of  meeting  the  manager  did  not  strike 
him  with  pleasure.  "I'll  tell  him  when  he 
gets  back  just  what  I  told  you,"  he  said, 
and  his  mouth  shut  in  a  firm  straight  line. 
Another  pause  ensued,  finally  broken  by  the 
detective. 

"How  much  did  he  get  out  of  the  safe?  "  he 


76  "  GOOD-BYE,   VERA  " 

asked  abruptly.  Johnston  ruminated  for  a 
moment. 

"  About  six  thousand  dollars  cash." 

"  We  fooled  him  there  all  right,  all  right." 
Blarney  knelt  over  the  body.  "  Which  one 
do  you  guess  it's  in?"  he  asked,  fumbling  in 
the  flannel  pockets. 

"  Try  the  coat,"  said  Johnston,  kneeling 
beside  him. 

Try  the  coat  they  did,  and  the  waistcoat, 
and  the  trousers,  and  the  lining,  and  the  shirt, 
and  the  socks,  shoes,  everything,  but  there  was 
not  a  trace  of  the  missing  money.  There  were 
a  few  notes  of  a  small  denomination,  and  a 
card  with  the  name, 

J.  V.  H.  Castle, 
P.  D.  A.  N.  Y. 

There  were  also  a  gold  watch  with  answering 
initials,  a  fountain  pen,  and  a  note-book,  with 
nothing  but  "  T.  Lannin  is  on  to  me  all  right," 
scrawled  in  it.  These  evidently  constituted 
all  the  man's  belongings. 

"  I'll  be  damned,"  said  Johnston  getting  to 
his  feet;    "  what  the  devil  do  you  suppose— 
Come  in,  come  in." 

The  door  was  pushed  open  and  in  walked 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  77 

Henry  Defrau,  in  silk  dressing-gown  and 
pajamas. 

Johnston's  patience  with  this  gentleman  was 
pushed  to  its  breaking-point.  His  anger  was 
very  apparent;  Defrau,  one  of  those  who  always 
"  know  it  all,"  was  the  last  kind  of  person  that 
one  wants  round  in  a  dilemma,  especially  when 
it  is  a  question  of  accounting  for  six  thousand 
odd  dollars.  But  Defrau  himself  apparently 
enjoyed  the  situation. 

"  What's  all  this  deuced  row,  anyway?" 
Then  seeing  the  body,  "  Oh!  a  little  shooting 
game,  eh!"  Neither  Blarney  nor  Johnston 
moved  a  muscle;  there  was  a  pause  in  which 
the  newcomer  took  in  the  situation. 

"  Mr.  Defrau,"  said  the  clerk  coldly,  "  can't 
you  find  something  to  pick  here?  " 

Defrau  looked  at  him  a  moment  quizzically. 
*  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  mean  get  out!  "  Johnston  with  uncon- 
trolled anger  leaped  toward  him;  the  new- 
comer turned,  stumbled,  picked  himself  up, 
and  fled  without  further  ado. 

On  the  floor  lay  a  two  hundred  dollar  bill,  exactly 
where  the  man  had  stumbled.  The  clerk  was 
the  first  to  see  it,  and  he  pounced  on  it.  Like 
a  flash  he  and  Blarney  were  out  in  the  hall  and 


78  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

pell-mell  after  the  receding  figure  in  the 
flowered  silk  dressing-gown.  They  grabbed  the 
suspect  roughly  by  the  collar. 

"  Look,  here,  young  fellah,  we  want  you," 
Blarney  growled;  at  the  same  time  Johnston 
thrust  his  hand  dexterously  into  the  bulging 
pocket  of  the  silk  dressing-gown  and  produced 
a  roll  of  bank-notes.  Blarney  laughed  exult- 
antly, "  Ah,  ah,  so  there's  two  in  the  game,  is 
there?  It'll  be  short  work  for  you,  my  fine 
sport." 

Defrau  through  it  all  appeared  perfectly 
unconcerned.  He  even  coolly  asked  permission 
to  have  his  room  for  a  place  of  confinement 
until  he  could  offer  explanations.  This  was 
granted,  and  with  a  temporary  guard  of  waiters, 
bell-boys,  and  clerks  outside,  Blarney  and 
Johnston  ushered  their  prisoner  into  his  own 
chamber,  locked  the  door,  and  waited  for 
explanations. 

Defrau  motioned  his  jailers  to  two  large  easy- 
chairs  and  offered  them  cigarettes;  he  took  his 
time  in  all  his  actions,  evidently  deliberating 
his  course  of  action.  Having  lighted  his  cigar- 
ette, he  knit  his  brow,  flung  himself  into  a  chair, 
and  carefully  blew  clouds  of  smoke  in  medita- 
tive silence. 


11  GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  79 

"  Come,  come,  Defrau,"  Blarney  broke  the 
silence  impatiently;  "  our  time  is  precious." 

"  So?  "  Defrau  murmured.  "  Don't  let  me 
detain  you." 

"  See  here,  you  fraud,"  Johnston  burst  out, 
:<  we  want  an  explanation  and  we  want  it 
quick." 

Defrau  turned  his  head  in  languid  surprise 
and  smiled  at  the  wrathful  clerk.  "  Please 
be  so  good,  Mr.  Johnston,  as  to  refrain  from  the 
loud  tones,  and  I  will  explain  all."  He  paused 
and  gazed  steadily  at  Blarney.  His  eyes  had  a 
far-away  look;  he  was  thinking  hard. 

"  The  money,"  he  said  in  slow,  even  tones, 
"which  you  took  from  me,  I  took  from  Nevius 
just  after  he  had  robbed  the  safe;  I  saw  John- 
ston there,  but  he  didn't  see  me,  for  I  got  behind 
a  post.  Nevius  was  in  a  rage  and  evidently 
tried  to  make  up  for  his  loss  by  the  necklace." 

1  What  the  devil  were  you  doing  in  the 
office  at  that  time  of  night?"  Blarney  demanded. 

Defrau  paid  no  attention;  he  was  looking  at 
the  toe  of  his  slipper  absent-mindedly.  "Ne- 
vius," he  said  after  a  minute  or  two  of  suppressed 
wrath  on  the  part  of  the  cross-examiners,  "  was 
I  think,  the  biggest  crook  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic;  I  knew  him  the  minute  I  saw  him, 


80  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

for  I  came  across  him  last  year  out  west  in  a 
hotel  robbery  case  and  appeared  against  him 
in  court.  When  he  saw  me,  he  knew  I  knew, 
too."  The  speaker  carefully  blew  a  ring  of 
smoke  and  pierced  it  with  his  finger. 

"  Why  didn't  you  want  me  to  see  you?  " 
Johnston  asked  impatiently. 

"  I  rather  wanted  to  see  how  you'd  handle 
yourself,  young  man,"  said  Defrau  with  a  smile. 

"  Why  did  you  feign  ignorance  of  what  had 
happened,  and  why  didn't  you  hand  over  the 
money  directly?"  demanded  Blarney. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  gentlemen."  Defrau  held 
up  his  hand.  "  One  at  a  time,  and  less  rough, 
if  you  please;  I'm  not  a  criminal."  He  looked 
at  Johnston  rather  sharply.  "  I  did  not  feign 
ignorance,  for  I  had  no  idea  that  our  friend 
here  would  go  so  far;  I  stayed  behind  and  went 
back  to  my  room  by  the  back  stairs;  I  didn't 
hold  back  the  money,  because  I  wasn't  even 
given  the  chance."  Defrau  looked  ruefully 
at  the  torn  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Defrau,"  said  Blarney  rising 
abruptly,  "  but  at  present  your  explanations 
do  not  hold  water,  though  you  are  in  all  prob- 
ability speaking  the  truth,  and  will  prove 
yourself  guiltless.  You  will  have  to  suffer 


"  GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  81 

yourself  to  be  watched,  and  be  more  or  less  on 
parole  until  to-morrow  noon  anyway." 

Defrau  stood  up,  bowed  with  a  frigid  nod,  and 
said  nothing.  In  silence  the  door  was  unlocked 
and  the  two  men  filed  out. 

The  hotel  was  up  early  the  next  morning; 
the  excitement  in  the  air  was  tense.  Every- 
body in  the  establishment  knew  now  of  the 
attempted  robbery  and  the  murder,  (if  an  act 
of  self-defense  may  be  so  termed),  and  had 
some  wildly  exaggerated  idea  of  how  and  why 
it  had  occurred.  As  a  result,  the  office  desk 
was  overwhelmed  by  old  ladies,  old  men, 
young  women,  and  young  men,  all  trying  to 
give  up  their  rooms  and  find  out  about  the  mat- 
ter at  the  same  time.  Before  this  avalanche 
stood  Johnston,  answering  here,  giving  out 
bills  there,  entirely  obliging  and  good-natured. 
Not  once  during  the  whole  morning,  however, 
did  he  see  that  face  among  the  multitude  which 
he  most  longed  for. 

Vera  and  her  mother  meanwhile  had  removed 
to  another  suite  and  were  spending  the  morning 
in  bed,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  quiet  their  nerves. 
The  afternoon  they  passed  in  reading.  Thus  it 
was  about  dinner-time  before  Johnston's  long- 
ing was  gratified.  The  day  had  been  a  night- 


82  "GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

mare  for  him.  Dobbs  had  not  yet  returned, 
and  the  responsibility  on  the  clerk  was  begin- 
ning to  tell  in  the  deepening  of  the  lines  about 
the  firm  mouth,  and  the  tired  look  under  his 
eyes. 

Vera  came  slowly  down  the  stairs;  she  wore 
a  close-fitting  gown  of  white,  her  golden  hair 
was  low,  showing  the  regular  contour  of  her 
head  and  neck,  and  covering  all  but  the  merest 
trifle  of  her  tiny  ears,  from  each  of  which  hung 
a  single  small  and  lustrous  diamond,  brilliant 
enough  to  be  startling,  yet  on  her  not  even 
hinting  at  anything  but  dignity  and  good  taste. 
She  was  alone,  and  walking  almost  suspiciously; 
about  her  neck  was  clasped  the  glittering  neck- 
lace. 

Johnston  could  do  nothing  but  stand  motion- 
less and  silent;  the  whole  hall  seemed  to  be 
watching  her  approach  in  breathless  silence. 
Some  even  had  had  it  that  Miss  Carisson  had 
been  murdered,  and  consequently  this  must 
be  her  ghost.  Johnston  gripped  the  edge  of 
the  desk;  what  courage  the  girl  had  to  wear 
that  necklace!  How  could  she  face  this  multi- 
tude? 

The  truth  was  that  Vera,  having  once  been 
seen  by  her  future  husband  with  the  necklace, 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  83 

felt  bound  to  stick  to  the  will  of  her  father  and 
wear  it  now  before  the  whole  world.  She  had, 
besides,  only  a  vague  idea  that  the  necklace  had 
been  the  direct  cause  of  a  man's  death,  the  real 
facts  of  the  tragedy  having  been  kept  from  her. 
It  had  been  only  with  the  greatest  persuasion 
that  Mrs.  Carisson  had  allowed  her  daughter  to 
go  down  to  dinner  at  all,  knowing  nothing, 
however,  of  the  wearing  of  the  gems. 

Straight  to  the  desk  Vera  went,  and  for  the 
first  time  that  day  she  smiled.  The  crowd 
peered  and  nudged,  winked  and  coughed,  but 
the  couple  neither  saw  nor  heard  them. 

She  leaned  toward  Johnston  the  way  she  had 
done  so  many  times  before.  He  leaned  toward 
her,  in  his  eyes  wonder  and  admiration. 

'  Vera/'  he  asked  softly,  "  are  you  very, 
very  angry  with  me?" 

1  With  you!  "  He  eyes  reproached  him  for 
even  entertaining  such  a  suspicion.  "  Why 
should  I  be  angry  with  you?  You  saved  my 
life." 

"  I  should  hardly  say  that,"  said  Johnston 
with  true  modesty.  "  But  why  did  you  put 
the  necklace  on  again,  Vera?  " 

The  girl  blushed  and  avoided  his  glance,  look- 
ing steadfastly  at  a  pencil  and  pad  before  her. 


84  "GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

"  You  look  just  as  beautiful  without  it," 
Johnston  encouraged  with  his  odd  little  smile. 
A  tiny  frown  played  between  her  eye-brows, 
and  Johnston  broke  the  rather  embarrassed 
silence. 

'  Vera,  let's  go  out  on  the  piazza,  or  down 
among  the  trees  and  get  this  thing  over.  I  know 
you  are  keeping  something  from  me,  and  we 
can't  talk  here." 

She  nodded,  and  in  a  minute  he  was  by  her 
side. 

As  they  moved  slowly  toward  the  big  doors, 
Henry  Defrau,  immaculate  and  breezy  as  ever, 
in  spite  of  his  rather  criminal  notoriety,  which 
had  spread  like  wildfire  among  the  guests, 
sauntered  down  the  grand  stairway  and  casu- 
ally watched  the  couple  go  out  on  the  piazza. 
He  paused  a  minute  as  if  irresolute,  lit  a  cigar- 
ette, and  then  followed. 

The  full  moon  was  rising  over  the  trees; 
the  after-twilight  of  a  summer  evening  had 
yielded  to  the  mild  and  half  illuminated  purple 
of  the  coming  darkness. 

Vera  and  Johnston  walked  through  the  hall, 
the  glassed  dining-piazzas,  the  open  piazzas,  and 
down  the  big  front  steps,  toward  the  hammocks 
in  a  grove  of  tall  pine-trees.  Vera  half  stumbled 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  85 

once  and  Cecil  gently  took  her  arm,  which  was 
not  withdrawn.  They  went  to  a  large  ham- 
mock where  they  sat  down,  very  close  together. 
The  gathering  darkness  almost  obliterated  them 
in  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

Defrau  smiled  pleasantly  to  himself  as  he 
threw  away  his  cigarette  and  stepped  out  into 
the  moonlight.  The  girl's  white  dress  was  fast 
losing  itself  in  the  blackness  of  the  grove, 
flashing  every  now  and  then  with  fading  bril- 
liance as  a  crevice  in  the  tree- tops  allowed  pene- 
tration of  the  moon's  rays. 

The  watcher,  however,  did  not  permit  the 
couple  to  be  entirely  lost,  for  he  slowly  fol- 
lowed in  their  track,  keeping  merely  the  vaguest 
outlines  of  their  figures  before  him.  He  paused 
for  a  moment  when  he  saw  them  seat  them- 
selves in  the  hammock;  then  he  walked  forward 
briskly. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said  lifting  his  hat  but 
ignoring  Johnston,  who  was  frowning  angrily. 

"Good  evening;"  Vera  looked  at  him  coldly, 
her  eyes  sparkling  like  the  jewels  at  her  throat. 
Defrau's  eyes  were  sparkling  too;  he  stepped 
near. 

"  Permit  me,  Miss  Carisson,"  he  said  in  a 
smooth,  insinuating  voice,  "  but  may  I  disturb 


86  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

you  a  moment?  "  He  had  scarcely  finished  the 
words  before  his  arms  were  deftly  round  her 
neck.  She  was  too  startled  even  to  cry  out, 
and  Defrau  was  bowing  politely,  the  necklace 
in  his  hand,  before  she  realised  what  had  hap- 
pened. Johnston  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  but 
was  standing  idly  by.  Defrau  looked  at  him 
triumphantly.  Vera  stared  in  amazement. 

"  Cecil,  Cecil!  "  she  gasped,  rising  and  stagger- 
ing toward  him  with  outstretched  arms.  "  Why 
don't  you,  why,  why — Oh,  protect  me!  " 

Johnston  held  her  off,  an  indescribable  expres- 
sion on  his  handsome  face,  a  mixture  of  remorse, 
regret,  and  whole-souled  admiration.  "  Please, 
Vera,"  he  said  softly,  "  don't  make  it  any  harder 
than  it  is  for  me." 

'  What! '  The  girl  recoiled  gasping,  staring. 
The  two  men  stood  silent,  looking  at  the  panting 
woman. 

"  Good-bye,  Vera;"  Johnston  held  out  his 
hand.  The  words  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  in 
the  stillness;  Defrau  began  idly  playing  with 
the  necklace. 

The  tremor  in  the  clerk's  voice  and  his  un- 
steady hand  belied  the  attempted  matter-of- 
factness  of  his  tone.  In  the  moonlight  his  face 
looked  pale  and  drawn.  "  I've  loved  you, 


"  GOOD-BYE,  VERA"  87 

Vera,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  more  than  I've  ever 
loved  any  other  woman  in  my  whole  life;  with 
that  you  must  be  satisfied,  for  I  cannot  marry 
you — or  anyone  else.  I — 

"  Come  on,  Berry,  that's  enough  of  the  soft 
stuff."  Defrau  laid  hold  of  the  clerk's  arm 
impatiently.  "  You  always  get  into  it  too  far. 
Good-bye,  Vera,"  he  added,  smiling  sardonically, 
"  it's  generally  a  toss-up  which  one  of  us  they 
like,  but  you  seem  to  know  your  mind  pretty 
well,  eh?" 

The  lights  of  a  motor  swung  out  of  the  garage 
and  down  the  avenue,  stopping  near  the  grove, 
where  the  whir  of  the  engine  was  plainly  audible. 
"  Are  you  going  to  stay  here  all  night?  "  Defrau 
asked.  Johnston  paid  no  attention,  but  moved 
slowly  toward  the  slender  figure  in  white, 
huddled  back  in  the  hammock,  the  golden  head 
bowed  in  convulsive  sobs. 

"  Vera,"  he  murmured,  "  please  say  at  least, 
*  Good-Bye. '  I've  meant  all  I've  said,  and 
felt  all  I  showed,  but  I  have  to  play  the  game." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him  through 
her  tears.  '  Who  are  you,  and  what  have  you 
been  doing?  Oh!  go  away!  go  away!"  She 
grew  hysterical,  laughing  loud  and  brokenly. 

"Vera,"    he   bent   over   close,    "Vera,    I'm 


88  "  GOOD-BYE,   VERA  " 

Berry  McFarlane,  and  Defrau  there  is  Tom 
Lannin;  we're  thieves,  Vera,  thieves.  And 
now  I've  killed  a  man."  The  girl  screamed  and 
cowered  back.  She  could  hardly  believe  her 
ears.  McFarlane,  alias  Johnston,  paid  no  atten- 
tion, but  hurried  on.  "  I  tell  you  this,  Vera, 
because  I  love  you." 

The  girl  clutched  her  bosom  and  staggered 
to  her  feet.  "  You !  You !  "  she  gasped. 

Defrau,  alias  Lannin,  seized  McFarlane  by 
the  coat.  "  You  fool,"  he  hissed  angrily, 
"  what  are  you  doing?  " 

Johnston  pushed  him  away.  "  It  was  I, 
Vera,  who  robbed  the  safe;  it  was  I  who  shot 
Castle,  the  detective,  when  he  followed  me  to 
your  room  after  I  had  seen  the  necklace  and 
was  going  to  steal  it;  it  was  I  who  made  Defrau 
here  seem  guilty,  I  who  made  him  persecute  you 
and  me,  and  so  ripen  our  friendship  till  I  could 
locate  the  necklace."  He  was  breathing  hard; 
the  perspiration  broke  out  on  his  forehead. 
Defrau  stood  by  dumfounded. 

"  Well,  it  was  me,"  said  that  gentleman  after 
a  pause,  "  who  took  most  of  the  gasolene  out  of 
your  car  that  first  night;  I  want  some  credit 
here,  for  I  had  the  devil  of  a  job  doing  it  in  the 
garage  there,  let  me  tell  you." 


"GOOD-BYE,   VERA"  89 

Vera  sat  like  one  in  a  trance;  she  was  too 
astounded  to  scream,  and  too  frightened  to 
go  away.  "  You  did  all  that?  "  she  asked 
slowly,  horror-struck,  "  You,  You?  " 

"  I  did,"  Johnston  nodded,  "  I  wouldn't 
have  gone  so  far,  Vera,  but  I  had  to  keep  it  up 
until  I  could  get  rid  of  Dobbs  to  get  at  the  safe, 
or  find  out  if  you  had  your  necklace.  I  liked 
your  friendship  and  for  the  first  time  I  began 
to  return  love.  Nevius,  the  detective  whose 
real  name  was  Castle,  forced  me  to  act,  for  he 
knew  Lannin  and  I  thought  he  suspected  me 
from  his  questions.  Then  I  saw  you  with  the 
necklace,  so  I  acted  that  night:  I  was  tired  of 
the  clerk  life,  anyway,  and  Lannin  here  was 
getting  impatient.  I  never  thought  I'd  have 
to  shoot  Castle."  Then  after  a  pause:  " We'll 
have  a  hard  pull  now." 

Johnston  seemed  to  have  rid  himself  of  a 
great  burden;  he  stood  up  and  squared  his 
shoulders.  Defrau  looked  at  him,  his  wrath 
giving  way  to  astonishment.  "  What  the  devil 
has  got  into  you,  Berry?  I  never  saw  you  act 
this  way  before." 

The  clerk  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "  I 
don't  know,  Tom,  just  what  is  the  matter; 
I  guess  I'm  in  love." 


90  "  GOOD-BYE,  VERA  " 

He  turned  to  the  girl ;  she  had  sunk  down  on 
the  ground.  "  Vera,  Vera,"  he  whispered,  but 
he  received  no  answer.  Tenderly  he  picked 
her  up  and  placed  her  in  a  little  white  and  gold 
mass  in  the  hammock. 

"  Good-bye,  Vera,"  he  whispered  softly  in 
the  tiny  ear,  and  turned  away. 

The  motor  whirred,  the  lights  moved  slowly 
on  to  the  road.  The  silent  chauffeur  bent  over 
the  wheel,  the  car  shot  forward,  and  the  two 
passengers  breathed  in  the  fresh  night  air, 
exhilarating  in  the  rush  of  the  cool  wind. 

The  great  full  moon  had  slowly  climbed  the 
sky,  the  tiny  red  tail-light  of  the  machine  had 
long  since  disappeared  over  the  distant  hills,  but 
still  the  forlorn  little  figure  lay  motionless  in  the 
hammock,  a  tumbled  mass  of  white  and  gold. 

GERALD  COURTNEY. 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 


THAT   DAY   IN  AFRICA 
A  True  Tale 

—  THUMP  —  BANG!  Masharia 
had  fallen  into  the  chop  box  and  the 
day  had  begun.  Masharia  was  our 
tent-boy  who  washed  our  clothes, 
made  our  beds,  etc.;  and  whenever  he  came 
anywhere  near  a  tent-rope,  he  tripped  over  it 
and  went  flat  on  his  face.  Sometimes  he  would 
see  one,  and,  in  avoiding  that,  fall  foul  of 
another.  Sometimes  he  would  not  see  any  at 
all  and  go  crash  over  the  first  one.  It  made  no 
difference.  He  invariably  came  to  grief,  if 
a  tent-rope  was  in  sight. 

Being  thoroughly  aroused  and  seeing  that 
my  companions,  Coolidge  and  Willetts,  were 
awake  also,  I  decided  to  get  up.  A  struggle 
into  dew- soaked  clothes,  a  quick  duck  into  a 
bowl  of  icy  water,  soapless — for  Coolidge  had 
locked  the  soap  in  one  of  his  boxes  and  for- 
gotten which — and  I  emerged  from  the  tent  just 
in  time  to  meet  Sowedi,  the  cook,  clad  in  a 

93 


94  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

gorgeous  grin  and  a  rather  dirty  fez,  bearing 
aloft  steaming  plates  of  oatmeal.  By  this  time 
the  whole  camp  was  up,  and  the  "  niggers  " 
were  flitting  through  the  dim  morning  light, 
striking  their  tents,  gathering  their  cooking  pots, 
and  generally  preparing  for  the  day's  march. 
Our  camp  was  pitched  on  the  middle  one  of 
the  three  ridges  which  make  up  the  Mau 
Escarpment.  Before  us  the  ground  fell  away 
sharply  into  a  little  valley,  across  which  the 
last  ridge  rose  perpendicularly  some  two  hun- 
dred feet.  Our  trail  led  straight  across  this 
ridge,  down  the  other  side  to  the  plains,  and 
across  these  some  ten  or  twelve  miles  to  the 
Siave  River,  where  our  next  camp  was  to  be. 
We  were  travelling  entirely  by  map  for  none  of 
our  "  niggers  "  had  been  in  this  region  before. 
There  are  no  detailed  maps  of  the  country,  so 
as  I  looked  ours  over,  the  best  I  could  do  was 
to  get  the  general  lie  of  the  land,  and  note  the 
bearings  of  several  prominent  hills  near  by. 
It  was  my  custom  to  get  under  way  ahead  of 
the  safari,  so  that  its  noise  might  not  disturb 
the  game  which  I  was  hunting.  Sometimes 
I  went  entirely  alone,  but  this  morning  I  took 
my  gun  boy,  Mariabibi  by  name,  to  carry  my 
camera  and  to  go  for  safari  porters,  in  case  I 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  95 

got  any  game  I  carried  my  water-bottle  and 
my  .405  Winchester  repeater. 

As  we  two  started  down  into  the  valley,  the 
sun  poked  up  over  Mt.  Suswa,  and  our  shadows 
stalked  sedately  before  us  through  the  dewy 
grass.  The  big  sleeping-tent  was  just  being 
packed  as  we  left,  so  we  had  a  good  twenty- 
minute  start  of  the  rest  of  the  safari.  The 
grass  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley  grew  very  tall, 
and  the  heavy  dewjsoaked  us  to  the  neck  long 
before  we  reached  the  base  of  the  ridge.  Here 
I  told  Mariabibi  to  drop  back  and  follow  me 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind,  for  the  kudu, 
for  which  I  was  specially  hunting,  is  one  of  the 
wariest  beasts  in  Africa,  and  one  man  always 
makes  less  noise  than  two.  So  I  started  up 
the  side  of  the  ridge  alone.  Real  mount ain- 
climbing  it  was,  too,  for  you  had  to  crawl  up 
the  sheer  side  of  the  rock,  working  from  ledge 
to  ledge,  hanging  on  by  toes  and  finger-tips. 
In  spite  of  the  difficulty  fortune  favored  me 
here,  for  moccasins  on  rock  make  no  noise,  and 
I  arrived  at  the  last  ledge  breathless,  but 
satisfied  that  if  anything  was  on  top,  it  had  not 
heard  me. 

Very  slowly  I  raised  my  head  over  the  crest 
and  peered  through  the  fringe  of  grass.  Noth- 


96  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

ing  to  the  right — nothing  straight  ahead— 
but  way  off  to  the  left,  behind  that  bit  of  thorn 
scrub,  something  moved,  surely.  Ten  seconds 
passed — twenty;  and  then  from  behind  the 
scrub  came  a  grey-buff  animal,  and  the  staring 
white  stripes,  running  down  its  sides  like  a 
harness,  told  me  it  was  a  kudu.  My  hopes 
jumped,  and  then  fell  again,  for  as  it  came  out 
against  the  sky,  I  saw  that  it  had  no  horns 
but  that  it  was  a  cow.  Another  movement  in 
the  scrub,  but  only  another  cow.  And  then— 
about  twenty  feet  behind  the  other  two  he 
came,  a  greater  kudu  bull,  stalking  proudly 
along,  his  heavy,  spiral  horns  clean-outlined 
against  the  blue  beyond. 

Slowly  I  brought  my  rifle  up,  and  then  lowered 
it  again.  Three  hundred  yards  was  a  long  shot, 
and  the  grass  and  scrub  ahead  offered  good 
protection  for  stalking.  Down  below  the  ledge 
I  dropped  again  and  shifted  along,  coming  up 
so  that  there  was  a  bit  of  scrub  between  the 
game  and  me.  Half  crouching  I  advanced, 
peeking  ahead  from  time  to  time  very  carefully 
to  see  if  they  were  disturbed.  Fifteen  yards 
covered — twenty;  and  then  a  short  crawl  to 
the  side,  belly-down  in  the  long  grass,  to  get 
behind  another  patch  of  scrub.  Twenty-five 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  97 

yards — thirty;  and  I  lowered  my  rifle-sights 
from  three  hundred  to  two  hundred  and  fifty. 
Thirty-five  yards  —  forty  --  forty-five  —  fifty. 
Snap — a  dead  twig  cracked  under  my  foot.  I 
could  have  sworn  that  nothing  could  have  heard 
that  little  snap  fifty  yards  away,  much  less 
two  hundred  and  fifty,  but  when  i_j>eered 
round  the  bush,  the  cows  had  left  their  feeding 
and  were  staring  about  in  all  directions,  their 
tails  swishing  nervously,  ready  for  instant  flight, 
The  old  bull  too  was  alert,  with  head  high  in  the 
air,  a  perfect  target  against  the  sky. 

But  a  target's  being  perfect  does  not  make  it 
much  easier  to  hit,  when  it  is  beyond  your  usual 
shooting  range.  The  long  grass  hindered  my 
shooting  also.  On  the  open  plains  where  I  had 
been  hunting,  the  grass  was  burned  so  short 
that  you  could  shoot  from  a  kneeling  position. 
But  here,  unless  I  stood  straight  up,  the  waving 
grass-tops  got  in  the  way  of  my  sights.  How- 
ever, the  kudus  were  disturbed,  and  much  as 
I  longed  for  the  added  steadiness  of  my 
knee,  I  had  to  shoot  standing  up.  Carefully 
I  raised  my  rifle.  The  sights  came  on,  just 
at  the  base  of  the  neck,  just  forward  of  the 
shoulder  blade.  Crack;  and  as  the  rifle  ex- 
ploded I  swore  to  myself,  for  in  my  nervous- 


98  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

ness  I  had  jerked  on  the  trigger  and  pulled  up 
just  a  tiny  bit. 

"  I've  missed  him,"  thought  I,  and  then 
jumped  forward,  for  he  had  gone  down  as  if  a 
battering-ram  had  hit  him.  "  But  there's  some- 
thing queer  here,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  ran 
towards  him,  for  instead  of  the  dull  thud  which  a 
bullet  makes  when  it  strikes  an  animal,  I  had 
heard  a  sharp  "  spat,"  as  if  I  had  hit  a  rock. 
The  cows  were  off  at  the  shot,  but  I  paid  no 
attention  to  them,  watching  only  the  spot 
where  the  bull  had  gone  down.  I  had  covered 
scarcely  fifty  yards  when  he  rolled  up  into  view 
again.  My  rifle  came  up  in  an  instant,  but  he 
was  quicker  and  was  off  behind  a  bush  before 
I  could  fire.  He  reappeared  once  or  twice, 
galloping  along  through  the  trees,  but  never 
long  enough  for  a  shot,  and  I  soon  lost  sight  of 
him  altogether. 

Things  get  all  out  of  proportion  in  one's  mind 
out  there  in  Africa,  and  when  I  saw  that  kudu 
disappear,  I  felt  as  if  all  my  past  life  had  gone 
for  naught,  and  my  future  seemed  empty.  Here 
I  had  got  in  range  of  a  greater  kudu,  had  had  a 
clean  shot  at  him,  and  he  had  got  away !  What 
was  there  left  to  live  for? 

When  I  came  to  the  spot  where  he  had  fallen,  I 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  99 

searched  for  traces  of  blood,  but  there  was  not 
even  a  spatter.  The  ground  was  still  wet  from 
the  dew,  however,  and  I  was  able  to  follow  his 
tracks  quite  easily.  The  trail  led  off  along  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  bending  to  the  left  until  once 
more  I  looked  right  down  into  the  valley,  from 
which  I  had  climbed  earlier.  A  herd  of  harte- 
beest  were  grazing  just  below,  and  I  could  have 
tossed  a  pebble  on  them.  For  some  distance 
the  tracks  led  along  the  edge  of  the  ridge,  till 
they  came  out  on  a  rock  plateau,  and  there  I 
lost  them.  I  suppose  that  if  I  had  taken  the 
time  to  go  all  round  that  plateau,  I  could  have 
picked  them  up  again,  but  I  was  so  angry  with 
myself,  that  I  did  not  have  the  patience,  so  I 
struck  off  at  random  towards  the  middle  of  the 
ridge  again.  I  had  covered  about  half  a  mile, 
when  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  noticed  some- 
thing moving,  and  turned  just  in  time  to  see  one 
of  the  cows  vanish  into  the  trees.  They  were 
out  of  sight,  so  I  doubled  up  as  low  as  possible 
and  ran  towards  where  the  cow  had  disappeared. 
As  I  drew  nearer  I  slowed  down  to  a  fast  walk, 
and  then  stopped  dead  as  the  two  cows  walked 
out  into  plain  view,  hardly  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  distant.  They  seemed  very  nervous 
still,  but,  since  they  were  not  looking  in  my 


100  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

direction,  I  knew  that  I  was  unseen.  Full 
half  a  minute  I  watched  them  as  they  stood, 
and  then  I  almost  gave  a  cheer. 

Forty  yards  beyond  the  cows  was  a  thick 
bunch  of  thorn  trees,  out  of  which  appeared 
the  bull.  Right  out  into  the  open  he  walked 
and  then  stopped,  gazing  round  in  all  directions. 
Every  now  and  then  he  would  shake  his  great 
head,  as  a  horse  does  when  a  fly  lights  on  his 
forehead.  Almost  broadside  on  he  stood,  a 
perfect  target,  and  now  in  perfect  range.  As  I 
raised  my  rifle  and  the  sights  came  on,  I  felt 
that  I  could  place  my  bullet  to  a  hair.  The 
roar  of  the  rifle  was  echoed  by  the  solid  thud 
of  the  striking  bullet,  but  the  kudu  hardly 
twitched.  Up  went  his  heels  in  a  half-bucking 
little  kick,  and  away  he  went  out  of  sight  into 
the  trees,  with  me  after  him  on  the  run.  Just 
beyond  the  belt  of  trees  into  which  he  dis- 
appeared was  an  open  space,  and  beyond  that 
a  dense  cedar  thicket.  This  thicket  was  about 
a  hundred  yards  long  by  thirty  broad,  so  thick 
that  you  could  not  see  ten  feet  ahead.  Down 
one  side  I  tore,  following  the  noise  of  his  great 
body  crashing  through  the  cedars.  All  at 
once  he  stopped,  and  I  stopped  also.  In  there 
somewhere  he  was,  that  I  was  certain  of,  but 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  101 

where,  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea.  I  walked 
a  short  way  along  the  edge  of  the  thicket,  and 
then,  discovering  a  little  tunnel  under  the 
branches,  plunged  in.  A  twig  snapped  some- 
where, but  I  could  not  be  sure  in  what  direction, 
so  I  just  pushed  on  as  quietly  as  possible.  Foot 
by  foot  I  worked  along,  peering  ahead  between 
the  branches  and  creepers. 

Now  a  curious  thing  happened.  I  suddenly 
realised  that  there  was  a  strange  heavy  odor  in 
the  air.  I  knew  the  smell,  and  yet,  for  the 
moment,  I  could  not  place  it.  All  at  once  it 
came  to  me — that  afternoon  scarcely  a  month 
before,  the  dead  eland  on  the  ground,  and 
Mariabibi  and  I,  blood  up  to  the  shoulders, 
slitting  and  pulling,  as  we  worked  off  the  heavy 
hide.  Blood — that  was  what  this  smell  was 
like — fresh  eland  blood;  and  the  eland  is 
first  cousin  to  the  kudu. 

He  must  be  near,  I  thought  to  myself,  and 
turned  up  wind.  A  moment  later  the  thicket 
opened  before  me  and  I  stepped  out  into  a  nar- 
row alley.  It  was  a  cul  de  sac  about  ten  yards 
long,  and,  there  at  the  opposite  end,  was  the 
kudu.  He  was  kneeling,  back  to  me,  but 
when  I  appeared  he  struggled  to  his  feet.  As 
he  rose,  he  whirled  toward  me,  down  went  his 


102  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

head,  and  on  he  came.  I  am  not  conscious 
of  any  thought  about  aiming  or  pulling  the 
trigger.  That  part  of  my  actions  seems  to  have 
been  governed  by  a  division  of  my  brain  entirely 
instinctive,  which  impelled  my  body  to  do  these 
things  and  left  my  conscious  brain  to  look  on. 
As  the  kudu  struggled  to  his  feet,  my  rifle  came 
up,  and  my  first  bullet  struck  his  shoulder 
as  he  whirled.  He  had  not  advanced  more 
than  three  or  four  steps  when  my  second 
bullet  struck  him,  fair  in  the  back  of  the  neck, 
just  as  he  dropped  his  head  for  the  charge. 
Down  he  went,  his  horns  pointing  forward, 
their  tips  scarcely  two  yards  from  where  I 
stood.  Even  as  he  fell  my  rifle  covered  him, 
this  time  fair  on  the  brain;  but  I  did  not  fire, 
for  I  saw  he  was  done,  and  I  did  not  want  to 
smash  the  skull. 

It  is  curious  that  vivid  as  the  picture  is  to 
me — the  dim  light  of  the  thicket,  the  dead  kudu 
lying  before  me  with  my  smoking  rifle  still 
covering  him,  and  the  two  reports  ringing  in  my 
ears — crack,  crack,  just  as  quick  as  you  can 
clap  your  hands — yet  I  have  no  remembrance 
of  pulling  the  trigger  or  snapping  in  the  fresh 
cartridge.  The  whole  incident  seems  to  me  now 
like  a  moving  picture  film,  which  you  can  look 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  103 

at  piece  by  piece,  so  that  you  see  the  motions 
of  every  character  inch  by  inch,  but  when  you 
run  it  through  a  camera,  the  action  is  almost  too 
fast  to  follow.  I  remember  every  move  of  the 
kudu;  I  remember  wondering  rather  idly 
whether  I  could  jump  between  his  horns  if 
my  rifle  failed  to  stop  him;  I  remember  think- 
ing that  a  bullet  would  smash  his  skull  badly, 
and  spoil  it  for  mounting.  And  yet  the  crack, 
crack,  of  the  rifle  condenses  the  whole  picture 
into  a  fraction  of  a  second. 

Now  that  he  was  done  for,  I  began  to  think 
normally  once  more.  A  blast  from  my  whistle 
brought  an  answering  shout  from  Mariabibi, 
and  soon,  guided  by  the  sound  of  my  voice,  he 
came  pushing  through  the  brush.  When  a 
"  nigger "  wants  to  emphasise  a  word,  he 
draws  it  out  very  long,  and  Mariabibi's  "  ku- 
u-ubwa  sa-a-ana"  (very  big),  when  he  saw 
the  kudu,  lasted  some  time.  He  and  I  exam- 
ined the  head  carefully  and  found  that  my 
first  bullet  had  struck  one  of  the  horns  a  glanc- 
ing blow.  The  stunning  effect  of  this  shock 
must  have  been  terrific,  for  as  I  have  said,  it 
knocked  the  kudu  flat,  and  it  was  on  account  of 
this  that  he  was  shaking  his  head  when  I  saw 
him  again.  It  was  also  owing  to  this  shock  that 


104  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

I  was  able  to  come  up  with  him  again,  for  under 
ordinary  conditions  a  kudu,  once  alarmed, 
will  travel  several  miles  before  he  stops.  My 
next  two  shots  were  both  in  vital  spots,  the 
first  through  the  lungs,  and  the  second  through 
the  heart.  But,  with  the  extraordinary  vitality 
common  to  all  African  animals,  he  kept  on 
coming  till  my  final  bullet  smashed  his  neck- 
bone.  This  preliminary  inspection  over,  I  sent 
Mariabibi  back  to  fetch  some  porters  from  the 
safari,  and  I  started  skinning. 

For  half  an  hour  I  worked,  till  finally  it  came 
over  me  that  Mariabibi  had  been  gone  for  a 
very  long  time,  so  I  came  out  of  the  thicket  to 
look  round.  A  few  blasts  of  my  whistle  brought 
Mariabibi  all  right,  but  of  the  safari  porters 
there  was  not  a  sign.  They  had  taken  a  dif- 
ferent trail,  and  passed  by  about  a  mile  to  our 
right.  This  annoyed  me  a  good  deal,  because 
it  meant  that  Mariabibi  and  I  should  have  to 
carry  the  head  and  skin,  and  besides,  all  the 
good  meat  would  go  to  waste.  But  the  idea  of 
losing  the  safari  never  entered  my  head. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour's  work  saw  the 
skin  off  and  Mariabibi  and  me  ready  to  start. 
He  carried  the  skin,  which  weighed  about 
sixty  pounds,  and  I  shouldered  the  head. 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  105 

This  weighed  some  ten  pounds  more,  but  it 
made  a  pleasanter  burden  than  the  raw, 
bloody  skin.  Indeed  with  my  arms  thrust 
through  the  spirals  of  the  horns,  and  the  skull 
on  my  shoulder,  it  made  an  excellent  pack, 
even  though  it  did  drip  down  all  over  my  neck 
most  disgracefully. 

We  did  not  go  back  to  pick  up  the  safari  trail, 
but  stuck  off  cross-country  straight  down  the 
slope,  knowing  that  in  time  we  must  come  to 
the  Siave  River. 

Now  the  wart-hog,  besides  being  without 
doubt  the  ugliest  beast  on  earth,  is  most  annoy- 
ing in  his  manners.  He  digs  his  holes  any- 
where and  everywhere,  and  the  long  grass 
springing  up  on  the  new  turned  earth  soon 
masks  these  pitfalls,  and  renders  them  doubly 
dangerous.  My  pride,  as  I  strode  down  the 
slope,  was  at  its  highest  point  and  due  for  a  fall. 
The  fall  came — into  a  wart-hog  hole.  Kudu 
head,  gun,  and  self  went  down  with  a  crash; 
but  not  flat,  for  I  managed  to  disentangle  one 
arm  from  the  horns  and  partially  broke  my  fall. 
As  my  hand  struck  the  ground  I  felt  a  sharp 
pain,  but  thinking  that  I  had  merely  run  a 
thorn  into  it,  I  did  not  examine  it  at  once. 
Indeed  I  lay  just  as  I  fell,  with  my  weight  half 


106  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

resting  on  my  hand,  while  I  disentangled  the 
kudu  head  and  unslung  my  gun.  Then  I 
arose  and  drew  my  hand  out  of  the  grass  to 
examine  it.  There,  hanging  to  my  little  finger, 
its  jaws  firmly  locked  in  the  flesh,  was  a  small 
snake. 

I  have  had  a  few  unpleasant  moments  in  my 
life,  but  nothing  ever  struck  me  so  unpleasantly 
as  the  sight  of  that  little  snake.  Grey-green 
he  was,  only  about  eighteen  inches  long,  but 
it  was  enough  to  give  me  the  kind  of  a  start 
I  never  want  again.  I  made  a  grab  for  him 
with  my  other  hand,  but  he  dropped  off  before 
I  could  grasp  him  and  was  lost  in  the  grass. 
Luckily  I  carried  a  small  packet  of  permangan- 
ate of  potash  in  my  pocket,  and  it  did  not  take 
long  to  get  it  out  and  decide  to  use  it. 

I  took  my  sheath -knife,  placed  the  edge  where 
the  two  little  fang-marks  showed  black  on  my 
finger,  looked  the  other  way,  and  pulled  till  I 
felt  the  steel  grate  on  the  bone.  Again  I  cut, 
cross  ways  this  time,  and  taking  some  perman- 
ganate crystals,  I  pushed  them  deep  into  the 
wound.  The  permanganate  stung  a  good  deal, 
but  the  pain  reassured  me,  for  it  proved  that  the 
medicine  was  doing  something  anyway.  With 
my  handkerchief  I  fashioned  a  rough  tourni- 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  107 

quet,  and  winched  it  up  with  my  rifle  barrel  as 
a  lever.  So  having  done  everything  in  my 
power,  I  sat  down  in  an  open  space  near  by, 
took  out  my  watch,  and  waited.  Mariabibi, 
who  had  been  wandering  along  a  little  to  one 
side  when  I  fell,  soon  came  back  and  watched 
the  proceedings  with  great  interest. 

Waiting  under  the  circumstances  was  a  most 
unpleasant  occupation.  I  knew  only  in  a 
general  way  where  my  friends  were,  and  I  was 
certain  that  they  had  no  idea  where  I  was. 
The  snake,  to  be  sure,  might  not  be  poisonous, 
but  then  again  he  might  be,  and  the  effective- 
ness of  permanganate  is  in  grave  doubt.  I 
thought  of  writing  a  note  and  sending  it  to 
Coolidge,  in  case — well,  in  case  the  snake  was 
poisonous  and  the  permanganate  did  not  work; 
but  I  had  no  pencil  or  paper.  Mariabibi,  I 
knew,  would  appropriate  all  my  effects  and  go 
his  own  way,  the  moment  I  lost  consciousness. 
I  suppose  I  was  in  no  greater  danger  than  when 
the  kudu  charged  me,  perhaps  not  so  great; 
but  here  the  danger  was  slow,  and  I  could  do 
nothing  to  avert  it.  I  was  looking  into  The 
Shadow,  with  no  excitement,  no  fight  to  keep 
it  off,  and  I  was  afraid. 

Ten  minutes  went  by  in  silence,  and  nothing 


108  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

happened.  Mariabibi  had  been  watching  my 
hand  with  almost  as  much  interest  as  I.  Sud- 
denly he  spoke. 

"  Mkono  yake  eko  eussi.  We  we  takufa, 
Bwana."  Which  being  interpreted  means, 
"  Your  hand  is  black.  You  are  going  to  die, 
Master."  The  tourniquet  had  stopped  all  cir- 
culation below  the  wrist,  and  consequently 
my  hand  had  turned  a  greyish  blue.  Mariabibi 
had  noticed  this,  and  so  promptly  gave  me  his 
cheering  reassurance.  I  explained  to  him  the 
action  of  a  tourniquet,  and  why  my  hand  was 
grey.  But  my  Swahili  was  not  of  a  surgical 
order,  and  his  nod  of  understanding  was  not  very 
positive.  Somewhere  I  had  read  that  if  nothing 
happened  within  half  an  hour  after  a  snake  bite, 
it  was  all  right.  My  faith  was  pinned  on  this 
rule  (which  I  have  since  learned  is  entirely 
wrong),  and  when  the  hands  of  my  watch  crept 
round  to  the  half  hour,  and  nothing  happened 
beyond  a  slight  swelling  of  the  injured  finger, 
I  breathed  freely  once  more,  and  prepared  to 
go  on.  With  some  permanganate  solution 
mixed  in  my  hat,  I  washed  out  the  wound, 
and  bound  it  up  with  a  strip  torn  from  my  hand- 
kerchief. Then,  loaded  with  our  trophies,  we 
started  down  the  slope  again, 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  109 

It  seemed  that  my  luck  had  been  all  used  up 
in  getting  the  kudu,  for  when  we  had  covered 
the  mile  or  two  to  the  bottom  of  the  slope- 
hard  going  it  was  too — we  found  our  way  barred 
by  a  deep  river.  Back  we  went,  the  whole 
distance  again,  and  for  me  every  patch  of 
grass  and  every  bit  of  scrub  was  the  home  of 
a  snake.  By  the  time  we  regained  the  top  of 
the  ridge,  it  was  nearly  noon,  and  we  were  both 
hot  and  tired.  So  I  decreed  a  rest,  and  for 
half  an  hour  the  smoke  of  my  pipe  smoothed  out 
all  my  cares. 

Half  an  hour  is  but  half  an  hour,  however, 
and  the  end  of  it  drove  us  up  and  on  once  more. 
Back,  almost  to  our  last  night's  camp  we  went, 
picked  up  the  trail  of  the  safari,  and  started 
down  the  slope  anew.  In  a  short  time  we  came 
to  a  Masai  village,  and  the  usual  ceremony  took 
place;  all  the  old  bucks  heaved  themselves  up 
from  their  goat-skins,  on  which  they  sit,  and 
advancing  one  by  one,  shook  my  hand  and 
solemnly  uttered  "  Soba."  I  returned  an 
equally  solemn  "  Soba,"  and  our  greeting  was 
over.  Mariabibi  drew  back  a  short  distance 
during  this  ceremony,  for  he  was  a  Kikuyu, 
who  is  far  beneath  the  Masai  in  rank.  We 
found  out  which  way  the  safari  had  gone,  and 


110  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

tried  to  hire  a  Masai  buck  to  carry  the  kudu 
head,  but  all  the  men  were  too  proud  to  do 
manual  labor. 

So  on  we  trudged  by  ourselves  across  the 
plain,  following  the  native  trails  when  they  led 
our  way,  and  travelling  cross-country  when 
they  didn't.  From  time  to  time  we  would  pass 
through  a  Masai  village,  or  meet  a  guardian 
of  their  flocks,  standing  gaunt  and  grim,  his 
great  spear  driven  into  the  ground  beside  him. 

It  was  while  crossing  a  stream  that  we  met 
our  second  snake.  Mariabibi  was  climbing 
down  the  steep  bank,  when  I  heard  him  cry 
"  Nyoka  "  (snake),  and  turned  to  see  him  leap 
up  and  out,  just  as  a  small  snake  shot  under 
his  feet.  It  was  a  close  shave,  and  only  the 
incredibly  keen  eyesight  and  quickness  of  the 
native  saved  him.  The  snake  was  still  in  sight 
wriggling  in  the  water  below,  so  we  both  turned 
to  and  bombarded  him  with  stones,  till  his  white 
belly,  floating  up,  told  us  the  work  was  done. 

By  this  time  it  was  after  three  and  we  had 
covered  about  fifteen  miles  since  leaving  camp. 
We  were  able  to  follow  the  trail  of  the  safari 
partly  by  information  from  the  natives,  and 
partly  by  signs,  picked  up  as  we  travelled  along. 
About  four  I  finally  succeeded  in  hiring  a  Masai 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  111 

to  carry  the  kudu  head,  and  thus  relieved  I  made 
much  easier  weather  of  it.  We  arrived  at  the 
edge  of  the  Siave  River  about  half  past  four. 

My  troubles  were  not  over  yet,  for  now  the 
problem  arose  as  to  which  direction  camp  was 
in.  The  river  ran  through  a  gorge  some  two 
hundred  feet  deep,  its  sides  almost  perpendicu- 
lar. The  edge  of  this  gorge  was  so  densely 
wooded  with  thorn  scrub  and  cedar,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  river- 
bed below.  I  fired  off  my  rifle  as  a  signal,  think- 
ing that  the  camp  would  be  near  enough  to 
answer.  But  no  answer  came.  I  fired  again; 
still  no  answer;  and  then  it  dawned  on  me  that 
we  were  lost.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  camp 
was  quite  near  and  heard  my  first  signal  and 
all  subsequent  ones,  but  by  some  curious  freak 
of  sound,  the  answering  shots,  all  except  one 
later,  lost  their  power  echoing  back  and  forth 
from  the  sides  of  the  gorge,  and  so  were  never 
heard  by  me. 

The  fact  that  I  was  lost  did  not  cause  me  any 
alarm,  because  I  knew  that  I  should  find  camp 
some  time;  but  I  had  been  on  the  go  now  for 
ten  hours  without  food,  and  was  extremely 
tired  and  hungry.  The  prospect  of  not  reach- 
ing camp  and  not  getting  a  good  meal  disturbed 


112  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

me  immensely.  Especially,  I  remember,  I  hated 
the  idea  of  missing  jam  for  supper.  We  had 
laid  in  a  large  supply  of  exceedingly  good  jam 
just  before  starting  on  this  safari,  and  my  mouth 
watered  at  the  mere  thought  of  it. 

One  way  was  as  good  as  another,  so  down  the 
river  we  turned,  and  trudged  on.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  went  by  and  no  sign  of  camp,  so  I 
fired  my  rifle  again.  No  reply,  and  on  we  went. 
Another  fifteen  minutes  and  again  an  enquiring 
shot.  This  time  there  was  a  reply.  Far  off 
in  the  distance  it  sounded,  one  single  boom. 
I  answered  with  two  shots  in  quick  succession, 
but  no  second  shot  came  to  our  ears.  Of  course 
the  question  was  which  direction  the  sound 
came  from.  I  said  up  the  river,  Mariabibi 
said  down;  and  the  Masai  did  not  know.  I 
trusted  Mariabibi 's  ears  above  my  own,  so  we 
moved  on  down  the  river.  Really,  when  we 
heard  that  shot,  the  camp  was  directly  below 
us  on  the  river  bank,  but  the  muffling  echoes 
made  the  noise  seem  a  great  distance  off.  I 
fired  my  rifle  at  regular  intervals,  until  I  had 
but  one  magazine  full  of  cartridges  left.  Then 
I  stopped,  for  it  looked  like  a  possible  night  in 
the  open,  and  it  is  always  well  to  have  a  few 
shots  left  if  you  are  going  to  be  out  after  dark. 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  113 

By  half  past  five  I  was  worn  out,  and  Maria- 
bibi  was  hardly  able  to  walk;  so  all  further 
search  for  the  camp  was  out  of  the  question. 
There  were  two  alternatives:  one  to  camp  in 
the  open,  and  the  other  to  spend  the  night  in  a 
Masai  village.  To  camp  in  the  open  I  was  most 
unwilling,  as  it  would  mean  keeping  a  large 
fire  going  all  night  to  frighten  the  lions  off; 
and  tired  as  Mariabibi  and  I  were,  we  were  in 
no  mood  to  face  any  night  watches.  The  Masai 
said  that  there  was  a  village  "  mbali  kidogo  " 
(a  little  distance).  "  A  little  distance "  to 
the  native  means  anything  from  ten  feet  to 
ten  miles,  but  nevertheless  I  hoped  for  the  best 
and  told  him  to  lead  on. 

The  sun  had  now  gone  down  behind  the  hills, 
and  the  swift-dropping  tropical  night  was  upon 
us.  A  jackal  cried  near  by  and  was  answered 
by  the  high  screeching  laugh  of  a  hyena.  Then 
grumbling  through  the  darkness  came  the  low, 
whining  grunt  of  a  lion.  Mariabibi  and  the 
Masai  moved  closer  to  me,  and  I  unslung  my 
rifle.  So  we  went  through  the  darkness,  and 
after  the  manner  of  the  Jungle  Book,  the  beasts 
sung  to  us  on  our  way. 

After  almost  an  hour's  walk  we  emerged  into 
an  opening  in  the  scrub,  and  before  me  in  the 


114  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

starlight  I  saw  a  Masai  village.  We  stood 
outside  the  brush  gate  and  called,  until  a  shadow 
moved  in  the  gloom  before  us,  and  a  young 
Masai  enquired  our  errand.  After  a  short 
explanation,  the  gate  was  opened,  and  we  passed 
into  the  circle  of  the  village. 

A  Masai  village  is  made  up  of  a  lot  of  huts 
ranged  in  a  ring,  their  doors  facing  inwards. 
There  is  one  gap  in  the  ring  which  forms  the 
gate.  At  night  all  the  cattle  and  sheep  of  the 
villagers  are  driven  into  the  kraal  made  by  the 
huts,  and  the  gate  is  closed  with  brush.  Thus 
both  inhabitants  and  animals  are  safe  from  the 
lions  and  other  marauders  which  abound  in  the 
neighborhood.  The  livestock  wander  round 
in  the  village,  passing  in  and  out  of  the  huts  at 
will.  When  the  village  becomes  too  foul,  it 
is  abandoned  and  a  new  one  built;  but  never, 
by  any  chance,  is  the  village  cleaned.  Con- 
sequently its  smell  ranks  well  up  among  the 
famous  smells  of  the  world. 

Each  hut  is  about  fifteen  feet  square,  with 
about  four-foot  head  room.  It  is  built  of  cow- 
dung,  dried  on  a  frame  of  withes,  and  while  in 
repair  is  water-tight  under  moderate  showers. 
No  window  or  chimney  is  provided,  the  only 
entrance  and  exit  for  men,  animals,  and  smoke 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  115 

being  the  door.  The  village  I  stayed  in  was 
made  up  of  some  twenty  huts,  sheltering  about 
a  hundred  people.  The  cattle  and  sheep  in  the 
kraal  must  have  numbered  from  four  to  five 
hundred. 

Our  host  left  us  after  he  had  put  back  the 
brush  gate,  but  soon  returned  and  conducted 
us  to  an  empty  hut.  His  wife,  who,  by  the  way, 
was  the  nearest  approach  to  non-ugliness  that 
I  ever  saw  among  the  natives,  soon  appeared 
and  kindled  a  fire.  Then,  after  a  wait  of 
fifteen  minutes,  the  old  head-man  of  the  village 
appeared.  Tall,  gaunt,  and  grey,  he  slipped 
into  the  hut,  shook  hands,  "  sobaed,"  and  took 
up  his  position  by  the  fire.  After  him  came 
all  the  old  men  and  bucks,  each  with  a  solemn 
handshake  and  a  "  soba."  All  squatted  round 
the  fire  and  kept  silent  waiting  for  me  to  speak. 
But,  since  I  talked  only  Swahili,  and  they 
talked  only  Masai,  our  conversation  was  lim- 
ited. Mariabibi,  however,  spoke  a  little  Masai, 
and  acted  as  interpreter.  My  first  demand  was 
for  food,  and  in  a  few  minutes  food  came,  in 
the  shape  of  a  live  sheep,  which  baaed  vocif- 
erously at  having  its  night's  rest  so  rudely 
disturbed.  It  was  led  before  me  and  I  was 
asked  whether  it  suited  me.  As  far  as  I  could 


116  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

see,  it  did;  so  I  said  so,  and  in  a  few  moments 
it  was  being  butchered.  Its  chops,  cooked  in 
their  own  fat  without  salt,  and  tough  beyond 
all  imagination,  were  nevertheless  extremely 
acceptable,  and  I  did  nobly  by  them.  The 
Masai  did  equally  nobly  by  the  rest  of  him,  and 
soon  there  were  only  a  few  bits  left,  which  I 
directed  Mariabibi  to  remove  and  save  for  the 
morrow's  breakfast.  The  meal  was  topped  off 
with  a  long  draught  of  vile-tasting,  smoked 
milk,  and  then  a  pipe.  The  food  loosened  the 
Masai's  tongues,  and  they  conversed  freely 
among  themselves.  Their  language  seemed  to 
me  almost  wholly  devoid  of  consonants,  and 
sounded  something  after  this  fashion. 

Buck  No.  1,  "  Leheoiyalalusasa." 

Chorus  of  Bucks,  "  A-a-aye." 

Buck  No.  2,  "  Okahahasasabwiesioi." 

Chorus  of  Bucks,  "  A-a-aye." 
And  so  it  went,  the  short  speech  by  one,  and 
then  the  long  chorus  of  "  A-a-aye." 

As  I  could  not  understand  a  word,  their  con- 
versation did  not  greatly  interest  me,  so  I 
looked  the  ground  over  for  the  night.  In  one 
corner  of  the  hut  was  a  sort  of  stall,  with  a 
rough  bed  of  brush.  On  this  I  spread  the  skin 
which  my  Masai  host  had  furnished  me,  and 


THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA  117 

placing  my  cartridge-belt,  camera,  and  water- 
bottle  at  the  head  of  the  stall,  so  that  no  one 
could  steal  them,  I  stretched  myself  out.  My 
rifle  I  kept  by  my  side,  loaded,  as  was  always 
my  custom  when  in  the  open.  Before  I  closed 
my  eyes  I  took  one  last  glance  round  the  hut. 
The  Masai  were  still  squatting  there,  their 
gaunt,  stern  faces  showing  dimly  by  the  smoky 
light  of  the  dying  fire,  and  as  I  dropped  off  to 
sleep,  their  solemn  chorus  of  "  A-a-aye  "  still 
rung  in  my  ears. 

The  long  day  was  over,  but  my  troubles  were 
not  quite  ended  yet.  About  midnight  I  was 
awakened  by  something  touching  my  feet. 
The  dim  starlight  silhouetted  a  great  dark  form, 
half  in  the  doorway.  My  rifle  was  in  my 
hands  instantly,  but  I  dropped  it  with  a  smile. 
The  intruder  was  nothing  more  dangerous  than 
a  cow,  which  retired  speedily  when  I  gently 
but  firmly  kicked  it  in  the  nose.  The  rest  of 
the  night  I  slept  with  my  feet  in  the  doorway, 
for  I  did  not  fancy  the  idea  of  a  cow  stepping 
on  my  face. 

With  the  first  daylight  I  got  up,  raked  the 
fire  together,  and  cooked  breakfast.  By  the 
time  the  meal  was  finished,  the  congress  of 
bucks  were  back  again  round  the  fire,  while 


118  THAT  DAY  IN  AFRICA 

a  second  congress  of  women  and  children 
crowded  close  around  the  doorway.  One  of 
the  men  noticed  my  bandaged  finger,  so,  through 
Mariabibi,  I  told  them  how  the  snake  had  bitten 
me,  but  how  my  "  dawa  msouri  sa-a-ana " 
(very  good  medicine  indeed)  had  saved  me.  At 
once  they  were  all  interested  to  see  my  "  dawa," 
which  I  took  out  and  showed  to  them,  finally 
ending  by  presenting  it  to  the  head-man,  with 
full  instructions  as  to  its  use,  and  a  most  horrible 
warning  against  eating  it.  Then,  having  invited 
all  the  sick  of  the  village  to  my  camp  to  be 
doctored,  Mariabibi  and  I  set  off  towards  the 
river  again. 

Scarcely  half  a  mile  had  we  covered,  when  a 
shot  rang  out  close  by,  and  soon  about  ten  of 
my  porters  hove  in  sight.  They  had  been  sent 
out  as  a  search-party  and  were  tremendously 
pleased  to  see  me.  All  of  them,  wreathed  in 
smiles,  surrounded  me,  each  bearing  some  little 
packet  of  food.  They  had  brought  the  mule 
with  them,  and  mounted  on  this,  I  proceeded 
in  triumph  to  the  camp.  Now  my  troubles  were 
really  over;  my  joy  was  complete;  and  besides, 
one  of  the  packages  was  jam  sandwiches. 

DUNCAN  DANA. 


PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS 


PEOPLE   DON'T   DO   SUCH   THINGS 

ANGLO-SAXONS  take  our  philos- 
ophy as  we  do  our  religion.  Our 
religion  we  put  on  with  our  best 
clothes  to  air  it  for  an  hour  or  two 
every  Sunday,  if  we  are  very  religious.  Our 
philosophy  is  just  about  as  deep,  and  we  make 
it  a  topic  for  tea-table  conversation.  Not  that 
we  believe  half  of  what  we  preach,  no;  but  it  is 
interesting  to  discuss.  There  are  other  races 
and  they  are  different.  And  that  brings  me 
to  my  story. 

Tina  kept  the  office  of  a  small  Cambridge 
apartment  house.  She  was  of  Russian  family 
and  hers  was  the  Russian  type  of  beauty. 
A  little  habit  of  hers  was  to  look  at  you  and  smile 
with  her  eyes  as  if  she  believed  everything  you 
said,  which  sometimes  embarrassed  people, 
She  moved  with  the  quick,  free  grace  of  unaf- 
fected girlhood — each  motion  an  unconscious 
pose  for  the  eye  of  an  artist. 

Rogerson    was    the    typical    philosophically 

121 


122       PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS 

inclined  undergraduate.  A  lively  talker,  a 
ready  "  mixer,"  he  was  well  liked.^  He  fol- 
lowed Ibsen  closely,  was  a  leadinglight  in  some 
college  philosophical  society,  and  his  professors 
called  him  "  promising."  A  great  many  fellows 
misunderstood  him,  and  so,  of  course,  called 
him  a  "  high  brow."  (Schopenhauer's  pessim- 
ism and  Nietzsche's  militaristic  utilitarianism 
were  the  foundations  of  his  youthful,  half- 
baked  philosophy.  /  He  was  at  the  age  when 
youth  begins  to '  feel  the  responsibility  of 
bettering  the  world,  and  you  know  what  that 
means.  Although  he  was  conventional  enough 
in  every-day  life,  his  mind  was  a  hot-bed  of 
ideas,  strong,  turbulent,  socialistic,  bordering 
on  anarchy  and  red  fire.  He  was  an  interesting 
_sj>eaker,  if  you  cared  to  listen. 

Rogerson  found  Tina  very  easy  to  entertain— 
humorous  but  never  coarse,  like  so  many 
girls  with  so  little  to  do  and  look  forward  to. 
She  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  cleverness  of 
the  college  man.  Then  she  was  feminine,  and 
that  always  attracts  a  boy.  Acquaintance 
ripened  into  friendship,  and  friendship  into 
intimacy.  Rogerson  rather  enjoyed  "  dropping 
in  "  for  a  few  moments  during  the  day,  when  the 
time  was  heavy  on  his  hands. 


PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS       123 

One  evening  they  were  on  their  way  to  the 
theatre,  for  Tina's  "  broader  education." 
Rogerson  was  opening  up  the  world  of  philos- 
ophy to  her  amazed  eyes.  Tina  had  no  phil- 
osophy. She  only  believed  in  God,  and  in  the 
Good  and  Right — very  old-fashioned  and  silly 
for  this  enlightened  age.  The  play  was  Ibsen's 
"  Ghosts  "  —not  too  pretty  a  story  for  a  young 
girl  with  a  wholesome  life  to  lead.  It  made  a 
profound  impression  on  Tina;  she  scarcely 
spoke  all  the  way  home.  To  Rogerson,  who 
gloated  in  its  cynicism,  the  play  was  an 
old  story.  Vain  subterfuges,  shattered  ideals, 
broken  lives  gave  Rogerson  a  chance  to  expand. 
In  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  subway  he  exploited 
his  theories.  He  believed  in  the  survival  of  the 
fit,  in  the  elimination  of  the  unfit.  This  is  to 
be  a  world  of  combat;  peace  and  good-will 
mean  stagnation.  Rogerson  enjoyed  himself 
immensely. 

Tina  stood  at  her  door  in  a  daze,  looking  after 
Rogerson's  retreating  figure.  What  did  it  all 
mean?  "  Survival  of  the  fit,  elimination  of 
the  unfit.  A  world  of  combat  .  .  .  stagnation." 
It  was  all  very  strange,  and  yet  it  seemed  very 
real.  Why  hadn't  she  ever  thought  of  it  before? 
It  was  so  simple  after  all.  Of  course  that  was 


124       PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS 

the  logical  philosophy  of  life.  In  her  intense 
earnestness  she  took  it  very  much  to  heart. 

Rogerson  returned  to  his  room  with  a  smile. 
What  a  serious  little  girl  she  was!  That  was 
a  good  play,  though.  Ibsen  couldn't  be  beaten 
when  it  came  to  the  real  understanding  of  human 
existence.  He  chuckled  when  he  thought  again 
of  Tina's  unsophisticated  amazement  and  sym- 
pathetic interest  in  the  play  and  in  his 
philosophy.  "  I  shall  have  to  talk  to  her.  She  is 
'  promising,'  and  could  be  educated  up  to  Ibsen. 
He  ought  to  mean  a  lot  to  a  girl  like  her." 

They  met  often  in  the  next  month  or  two. 
Rogerson  found  her  company  more  and  more 
agreeable ;  she  was  an  interesting  study.  There 
were  long  walks  on  the  river-banks  when  much 
was  said — by  Rogerson.  "  You  see,  the  real 
reason  we  are  here  is  the  advancement  of  the 
race.  We  are  striving  for  the  perfect.  Nie- 
tzsche with  his  '  big  blond  brute,'  you  know. 
The  only  social  lines  are  those  determined  by 
mental  and  physical  strength.  Just  look,  you 
and  I—  '  Rogerson  stopped,  he  did  not  know 
exactly  why.  Tina  seemed  to  be  looking  away 
into  the  distance  with  dreamy  eyes  and  parted 
lips.  She  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  he  had 
stopped  talking. 


PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS       125 

She  was  very  beautiful  as  she  stood  there  in 
the  fresh  breeze  with  that  dreamy  far-away 
look.  Rogerson  would  not  have  admitted  that 
he  was  a  "  flirt, "  but  he  did  not  try  very  hard 
to  resist  the  temptation  to  put  his  arm  round 
her.  She  turned,  smiled  up  at  him,  and  shyly 
rested  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Dear  girl/' 
he  whispered,  gazing  into  her  piercing  earnest 
black  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  it?  "  She  looked  at  him 
happily. 

Rogerson  gave  the  answer  that  all  men  give 
to  such  a  question.  This  and  much  more  he 
did  and  said;  he  enjoyed  himself  immensely. 

They  were  on  their  way  to  "  Hedda  Gabler  " 
a  few  evenings  later.  A  careless  search  for 
gloves  brought  a  small  white  envelope  out  from 
Rogerson's  pocket.  "  The  girl  I'm  engaged  to— 
lots  of  money,"  he  remarked  off  hand.  "  She 
is  wonderful,  simply  wonderful — the  kind  of 
girl  a  king  would  be  proud  to  make  his  queen. 
Pretty,  you  know,  but  not  like  a  doll.  Lots 
of  character  in  her  face,  and  just  to  hear  her 
laugh,  you  can't  help  loving  her.  We  shall  be 
very  happy."  Tina  winced,  held  herself  very 
straight,  and  looked  ahead.  "  This  play  is 
rather  unusual,"  he  continued,  "  perhaps  Ibsen's 


126       PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS 

best.  Silly  woman  gets  into  a  rotten  hole, 
and  has  to  accept  the  only  possible  way  out. 
The  solution  fits  in  awfully  well,  you  know." 
Tina  seemed  absorbed. 

The  plush  curtain  drew  up  in  its  gilded  frame 
for  the  third  act.  Hedda  had  urged  the  man 
she  loved  to  suicide ;  her  husband  was  indifferent 
to  her;  she  must  become  the  mistress  of  a  man 
she  despised.  Glittering,  beautiful,  and  sinu- 
ous, Mme.  Nazimova  as  Hedda,  with  her 
wonderful  skill  and  feeling,  held  Tina  spell- 
bound and  gasping.  In  her  own  little  wounded, 
oversensitive  soul  Tina  saw  herself  in  a  similar 
position.  The  man  she  loved  was  engaged— 
the  man  in  whom  she  had  placed  all  her  faith 
and  happiness.  The  gate  to  the  perfect  life 
which  had  hung  open  for  her  entranced  gaze 
shut  with  a  final,  chilling  clang. 

Hedda  laughed,  a  high-pitched,  screaming, 
scornful,  desperate  laugh,  the  laugh  of  a  woman 
who  is  on  her  way  to  Hell  and  does  not  care. 
Tina's  face  went  white  and  tense.  How  would 
Hedda  solve  it?  The  shot  on  the  stage  rang 
out.  Suicide !  Tina  gave  a  startled  gasp.  The 
last  surprised,  ironic  words  of  the  play  echoed  in 
her  ears:  "  May  God  take  pity  on  us,  people 
don't  do  such  things."  Rogerson  turned  to 


PEOPLE  DON'T  DO  SUCH  THINGS       127 

her  with  a  smile.  He  had  not  the  understanding 
to  see  that  her  face  was  pale  and  set,  and  that 
she  quivered  as  she  plunged  warped  hatpins 
through  her  worn  little  bonnet. 

They  were  at  the  varnished  door  of  her  modest 
rooms. 

"  I  hope  you  enjoyed  the  play/'  Rogerson 
smiled  down  at  her. 

"  Indeed,  yes.  You  and  Ibsen  have  taught 
me  a  lot.  Good  night." 

He  kissed  her  trembling  lips  and  closed  the 
door  after  him  with  a  smile.  A  laugh  followed 
him — a  high-pitched,  screaming,  scornful, 
desperate  laugh.  Did  it  remind  him  of 
"Hedda"?  He  turned,  but  the  door  was 
shut.  At  the  foot  of  the  cool,  white  stairs  he 
paused  in  the  shining  vestibule  to  light  his 
cigarette.  A  shot  boomed  and  echoed  in  the 
hall.  Rogerson's  heart  stopped;  then  it  raced 
frantically,  and  he  felt  sick;  a  cold,  drenching 
sweat  broke  out  all  over  him.  He  jumped  up 
the  stairs  and  burst  open  the  flimsy  door. 

"My  God!  People  don't  do  such  things!  " 
screamed  Rogerson  as  he  picked  up  the  warm, 
limp  body  of  the  girl  in  his  arms. 

GORDON  LAMONT. 


THE  IRON  BAND 


THE   IRON   BAND 

|S  HE  stepped  out  through  the  huge 
entrance  of  the  Leipzig  station,  Carle- 
ton  started  with  surprise  and  delight. 
At  home  they  had  told  him  about 
the  passing  of  the  old  romantic  beauty  in 
German  towns;  they  had  shaken  their  heads 
regretfully  and  sighed  at  thought  of  the  days 
when  industrial  development  had  not  marred 
with  soot  and  uproar  the  glamour  and  the 
charm.  And  his  impressions  of  Antwerp  and 
of  Elberfeld — gained,  it  was  true,  only  through 
leaden  sheets  of  rain — had  seemed  to  confirm 
such  presagings.  But  these  surroundings, 
though  the  mediaeval  atmosphere  was  indeed 
lacking,  had  a  quaint  charm  all  their  own. 
The  sun  had  set,  but  the  western  sky  was  still 
aglow,  and  a  low-lying  cloud-bank  gleamed 
blood-red.  Straight  before  him  stretched  a 
long,  broad  avenue  of  linden-trees,  just  touched 
with  the  tender  green  of  early  spring;  to  the 
left  of  it  he  could  see  swans  floating  on  a  lake 

131 


132  THE  IRON  BAND 

in  a  tiny  park;  and  on  the  right,  a  great  open 
square,  dotted  with  flower-beds,  and  peopled 
with  promenaders — officers  in  blue  and  gray 
uniforms,  soberly-clad  citizens,  white-aproned 
nurse-girls,  groups  of  students  with  breast- 
ribbons  and  red  and  black  caps.  There  was  a 
hum  of  many  voices  in  the  air,  and  an  indefin- 
able spring  fragrance  and  freshness.  Every 
now  and  then  an  electric  car  would  pass  almost 
silently,  sometimes  with  the  sound  of  a  warning 
bell  that  rang  like  a  chime. 

Delighted  with  it  all,  Carleton  put  his  bags 
into  a  victoria,  told  the  driver,  "  Hotel  Kaiser- 
hof,"  climbed  in,  and  was  whirled  away. 

He  had  intended  to  call  on  Lowe  the  next 
morning;  but,  wearied  with  his  all-day  journey, 
he  slept  until  nearly  noon.  When  he  woke, 
the  sunlight  was  streaming  in  dusty  golden 
rays  into  the  great  bare  room.  A  glance  at  his 
watch  startled  him  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour; 
it  seemed  almost  a  sin  to  lie  there  senseless 
while  outside  the  world  was  rushing  on  in  new 
and  fascinating  forms.  He  had  seen  a  great 
deal  and  done  a  great  deal  in  the  course  of  his 
twenty-four  years,  but  he  had  never  lost  that 
fresh  enthusiasm  for  the  unknown  and  untried 
which  is  the  real  and  only  guaranty  of  youth. 


THE  IRON  BAND  133 

He  breakfasted  alone  in  the  gilded  dining- 
room  downstairs.  Its  heavy  velvet  curtains 
and  thick  carpet  oppressed  him,  for  through 
the  windows  he  could  see  the  blue  and  gold 
April  day  outside,  and  he  was  anxious  to  step 
out  and  share  it.  Lowe  lived,  he  had  been  told, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Ring;  so  he  took  a  cab 
again,  though  he  would  have  preferred  to  walk. 
In  the  air  was  a  fragrance  as  of  violets  and 
damp  green  leaves;  there  had  been  a  storm  in 
the  night,  and  all  the  streets  were  wet.  But 
overhead  the  sky  was  cloudless;  and  after  the 
misty  crossing  and  the  days  and  days  of  rain, 
the  sunshine  seemed  Italian  in  its  warmth  and 
brightness.  The  sidewalks  were  crowded  now; 
over  the  uneven  pavements  carriages  were 
clattering;  once  a  long  wagon  full  of  korps- 
students  bound  for  their  duelling-place  swept 
by.  There  was  a  great  keg  of  beer  on  the  seat 
near  the  driver,  and  one  of  the  young  fellows 
was  crouched  beside  it,  filling  the  steins  which 
his  companions  were  busily  emptying.  They 
looked  at  Carleton  as  he  drove  past,  and 
laughed,  and  Carleton  laughed  back,  happily. 
As  they  rounded  a  corner,  the  strains  of  0  Alte 
Burschenherrlichkeit  floated  back  to  him,  rem- 
iniscent of  his  own  college  days,  and  he  caught 


134  THE  IRON  BAND 

himself  humming  the  tune,  the  smile  still  on 
his  lips. 

His  interview  with  Lowe  was  soon  over.  A 
huge,  iron-grey  beard,  aquiline  features,  eyes 
like  molten  steel — that  was  Carleton's  first 
impression  of  the  man  as  he  grasped  his  hand. 
He  was  tall — as  tall  as  Carleton  himself;  and 
from  him  emanated  a  curious  impression  of 
masterful  strength;  one  felt  it  in  his  glance, 
in  his  tone,  in  the  touch  of  his  fingers. 

"  I  am  a  very  busy  man,  Mr.  Carleton,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  am  never  too  busy  to  encourage 
and  assist  the  player  with  real  genius.  And 
indeed,  without  it  he  would  waste  his  time  in 
coming  to  me.  I  tell  him  so.  There  are 
a  hundred  teachers  to  care  for  the  merely 
talented.  Play  for  me  now  a  little  some- 
thing!" 

Carleton  stood  thoughtful  a  moment;  then, 
bow  in  hand,  he  raised  his  violin  against  his 
cheek  and  drew  from  it  the  first  low  note  of  the 
Minuet  in  G. 

"  Enough!  "  said  Lowe  when  he  had  finished. 
"  I  will  take  you,  my  young  friend,  for  I  think 
there  are  possibilities  in  that  hand  of  yours. 
You  will  perhaps  excuse  me  now?  As  I  told 
you,  I  am  very  busy.  Perhaps  to-morrow  at 


THE  IRON  BAND  135 

four?  Yes?  Auj  Wiedersehen,  then,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton.  I  shall  expect  you." 

Carleton  drove  back  to  the  hotel  with  his 
head  in  the  clouds. 

His  lessons  began  the  next  day.  He  had  two 
a  week;  and,  as  he  was  an  advanced  pupil,  he 
took  them  at  Lowe's  home.  One  day,  as  he 
was  about  to  leave,  he  met  in  the  hallway  a 
lady  who  he  guessed  at  once  must  be  Lowe's 
young  wife.  Already  he  had  heard  her  men- 
tioned by  those  of  his  fellow-pupils  whom  he 
knew — had  heard  of  her  beauty,  her  youth,  her 
husband's  infatuation  for  her;  had  heard  dis- 
cussed her  reasons  for  marriage  to  a  man  like 
Lowe,  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  So  he 
looked  at  her  now  with  an  interest  naturally 
keen,  as  he  bowed  and  stepped  aside  for  her  to 
pass.  Then  Lowe's  deep  voice  sounded  behind 
him: 

"  Mr.  Carleton,  I  wish  you  to  meet  my  wife!  " 

Carleton  faced  her  quickly.  She  smiled  very 
graciously,  and  extended  her  hand. 

'  You  must  pardon  me,  Mr.  Carleton," 
she  said  in  German,  "  Unfortunately  I  speak  no 
English.  But  you  yourself  understand  Ger- 
man, I  believe?  And  if  you  only  speak  very 
slowly,  I  can  understand  English.' 


136  THE  IRON  BAND 

Her  smile  was  really  bewitching,  Carleton 
thought,  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  her  voice 
exactly  what  it  should  have  been — low  and  very 
sweet.  She  went  on: 

"  My  husband  has  told  me  a  great  deal  about 
you.  He  is  most  optimistic  about  your  pro- 
gress— 

"  I'm  afraid,"  deprecated  Carleton,  "  I'm 
really  a  very  poor  pupil.  It's  rather  distracting, 
you  know,  to  accustom  one's  self  to  new  sur- 
roundings suddenly." 

"  Don't  flatter  him,  Rita,"  said  Lowe,  jok- 
ingly. Carleton  glanced  at  him  as  he  spoke, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  clear — despite  the  smile- 
that  the  man  was  utterly  infatuated  with  his 
wife.  Small  wonder,  he  decided,  as  he  turned 
to  her  again;  she  was  lithe  and  slender,  with 
features  so  perfect  in  their  classic  regularity 
that  they  would  have  been  cold  had  not  her 
soft  eyes,  and  her  mouth — vivid  scarlet  in  the 
pallor  of  her  face — redeemed  them.  Her  hair 
she  wore  low  about  her  neck  under  a  tilted  hat; 
round  her  white  throat  gleamed  a  string  of 
golden  beads,  lending  the  pale  flesh  a  warmer 
tone. 

"  You  are  alone  in  Leipzig,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  yes,"  he  smiled. 


THE  IRON  BAND  137 

"  We  should  both  be  delighted  if  you  would 
dine  quite  informally  with  us  some  even- 
ing—" 

"  I  should  be  only  too  delighted — "  he  inter- 
rupted, perhaps  a  shade  too  fervently;  but 
Lowe  from  the  background  rumbled  out  a 
seconding  of  the  invitation;  he  thanked  them 
both  again,  and  took  his  leave. 

The  meal  at  which  he  was  the  guest  of  honor 
was  followed  by  others  on  which  there  is  no 
need  to  dwell.  Lowe,  as  he  had  said,  was  a 
very  busy  man;  and  it  seemed  quite  natural 
that  Carleton  should  undertake  to  teach  his 
wife  English.  Rita's  existence  was  at  best 
rather  lonely;  she  was  a  Dresdener  by  birth, 
and  knew  few  people  in  Leipzig  intimately. 
Carleton  seemed  to  fill  a  gap  in  her  existence 
of  which  before  she  had  been  only  dimly  con- 
scious, but  of  which  now,  when  days  passed 
without  their  meeting,  she  was  painfully  aware. 
As  for  him,  he  did  not  even  try  to  deny  to  him- 
self that  he  was  in  love  with  her;  she  was  so 
small,  so  young,  so  lovely,  so  appealing,  that 
it  required  all  the  effort  of  his  will  to  keep  him, 
in  moments  when  they  were  alone  together,  from 
catching  her  in  his  arms  and  pouring  out  the 
whole  story. 


138  THE  IRON  BAND 

One  night  he  telephoned  her  to  ask  if  he  might 
call.  She  hesitated,  then  she  said: 

"  Fritz  is  in  Berlin,  at  a  meeting  of  his  old 
classmates.  But  if  you  really  want  to  come— 

"  Do  let  me!  "  he  begged,  and  waited,  hardly 
daring  to  hope. 

A  silence;  then, 

"  At  half-past  eight,  then?  "—this  very 
hastily;  and  in  the  middle  of  his  cry  of  assent, 
he  heard  the  receiver  clicked  up. 

He  was  standing  at  her  door  as  the  city 
clocks  chimed  the  half -hour;  and  never,  it 
seemed  to  him,  had  he  felt  so  strangely  excited— 
like  a  child  at  his  first  party,  he  thought,  half- 
laughing.  Impatiently  he  waited  in  the  draw- 
ing-room till  he  heard  a  rustle  at  the  door;  as 
she  entered,  he  was  on  his  feet.  She  was  dressed 
in  old  rose  and  silver,  her  neck  and  shoulders 
bare;  in  her  dark  hair  a  silver  fillet  gleamed. 

She  shook  a  reproving  finger  at  him  as  she  saw 
him: 

"  Don't  you  know,  naughty  one,  that  you 
mustn't  come  to  see  me  when  Fritz  is  out  of 
town?  " 

He  was  holding  both  her  hands,  and  suddenly, 
daring  greatly,  he  raised  them  to  his  lips  and 
kissed  one  pink  palm  after  the  other. 


THE  IRON  BAND  139 

"  Did  you  think  I  could  stay  away?  "  he 
whispered. 

She  started  at  the  action  and  the  words, 
and  he  let  her  go,  but  she  could  not  hide  the 
sudden  flush  that  stained  her  cheeks. 

"  Fritz/'  she  said  in  German,  with  an  assump- 
tion of  lightness,  "  wished  to  have  you  informed 
that  he  should  be  unable  to  see  you  to-morrow 
because  of  his  absence;  so  I  thought  if  I  let 
you  come  to-night,  I  could  make  sure  that  you 
got  the  message." 

She  sank  into  a  great  plush  arm-chair  before 
the  fire,  and  smiled  up  at  him. 

"  Do  you  mind  my  telling  you  how  enchant- 
ing you  look?  "  he  asked,  bending  near.  His 
arms  were  crossed  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
above  and  behind  her,  and  she  had  to  turn  to 
look  at  him. 

Silence;  then  very  low  she  answered: 

"  Mind?  Ah,  Herr  Carleton,  if  you  knew 
how  lonely  and  wretched  I  am  sometimes,  you 
would  see  that  I  cannot  mind." 

"  You  mean — ?  "  he  questioned,  softly. 

"  Do  you  ever  feel  that  no  matter  how  well 
they  may  understand  you,  no  one  can  ever 
come  close  to  the  real  you?  Oh,  life  is  so  dreary 
sometimes! " 


140  THE  IRON  BAND 

There  was  a  hint  of  tears  in  her  voice;  a 
fierce  tenderness  swelled  in  him,  a  longing  to 
shield  and  protect  her.  But  all  he  said  was : 

"  But  surely,  Fritz—?  " 

1 '  Fritz !  Fritz !  Fritz !  ' '  she  burst  out. 
"  Often  I  feel  I  hate  the  name!  He  loves  me— 
yes;  but  how?  He  is  a  slave-driver,  not  a 
lover !  He—Herrgott!  What  have  I  told  you  1" 

The  slender  white  shoulders  bowed  suddenly ; 
the  dark  head  sank  to  the  broad  chair-arm.  All 
her  slim  body  shook  with  sobs.  Carleton  had  a 
feeling  of  being  tossed  in  a  raging  sea  by  giant 
waves ;  then  he  found  himself  on  his  knees  beside 
her,  one  arm  about  her,  his  lips  at  her  ear. 

"Dearest!  dearest!"  he  was  murmuring, 
over  and  over  again.  "  Dearest!  My  dearest! 
Look  at  me — only  look  at  me!  " 

Neither  of  them  knew  how  it  happened;  but 
she  stirred  in  his  clasp  and  raised  a  pale  wet  face 
to  his;  the  next  instant  her  tears  were  sweet 
on  his  lips. 

Then,  with  a  shudder,  revulsion  seized  her, 
and  she  tore  herself  away,  panting. 

"  Am  I  mad?  "  he  heard  her  whisper,  her 
dark  eyes  wild. 

"  No,  sweetheart — listen!"  he  answered 
quickly.  "  I  can't  hide  it  any  longer — you 


THE  IRON  BAND  141 

must  know  it's  /  who  am  mad — over  you! 
The  moment  I  saw  you  I  loved  you — Oh,  I 
know  how  trite  it  sounds,  and  what  you're 
going  to  say;  that  I  haven't  any  right  to  tell 
you  this.  Don't  you  think  I  know  it?  Don't 
you  think  the  thought  has  stung  me  during 
all  these  weeks  of  concealment — to  think  I 
couldn't  even  tell  you  I  thought  of  nothing 
but  you?  Do  you  think  it's  anything  but 
torture  and  agony  for  me  to  picture  you  in  his 
arms,  answering  his  caresses,  to  realise  that  he 
can  take  without  asking  what  I  would  give  my 
soul  for?  Rights!  Rights!  He  has  a  right 
to  you,  body  and  soul,  because  he  met  you 
first;  I  oughtn't  even  to  touch  your  cheek! 
But  I  had  to  tell.  .  .  .  Now  that  you  know, 
send  me  away  if  you  want  to.  I'll  go!  " 

He  stopped.  The  fire  crackled  in  the  silence. 
Then  she  said,  slowly,  almost  inaudibly : 

"  Really — you  love  me?  " 

"  Can  you  ask  it?  "  and  his  arms  went  out  to 
her  again. 

She  turned,  hesitated,  and  then  suddenly 
her  bare  arms  slid  about  his  neck  and  she  clung 
to  him. 

"  Then— Oh,  Carlo,  hold  me — kiss  me — love 
me  forever — for  oh!  dear  God!  how  I  love  you!  " 


142  THE  IRON  BAND 

He  left  her  two  hours  later,  and  walked  home 
through  a  dream-world.  Next  morning  he 
could  hardly  credit  his  own  memory,  so  impossi- 
ble did  it  all  appear.  Thought  of  work  was 
forgotten;  after  a  late  breakfast  he  went  out 
for  a  stroll,  hoping  out  of  the  maze  of  new 
thoughts  and  emotions  to  reach  some  definite 
conclusion.  It  was  a  grey  day,  with  a  promise 
of  rain  in  the  air;  the  rumble  of  carriages 
sounded  hollow  on  the  pavements;  the  leaves 
hung  lifeless  on  the  trees.  He  went  slowly 
down  the  Ring  and  crossed  to  the  Cafe  Merkur, 
at  this  time  almost  empty.  Seated  alone  inside, 
he  ordered  some  coffee  and  tried  to  think. 

He  felt  like  a  wild  thing  caught  in  a  goading, 
maddening  snare,  from  which  there  was  no 
escape.  Struggle  as  he  would,  he  could  not 
force  himself  even  to  contemplate  playing  false 
to  that  unspoken  agreement  which  had  existed 
—as  it  always  exists — from  the  moment  when 
Lowe  had  said,  "  Mr.  Carleton,  my  wife!" 
Yet  it  was  just  as  impossible  to  go  back  to  their 
old  footing  as  to  remain  exactly  where  they  now 
stood;  a  man's  arms  about  a  woman  point  a 
path  which  leads  in  just  one  direction.  As  he 
pondered  came  the  solution:  Divorce!  Was  it 
a  horribly  selfish  thought?  She  would  be  risk- 


THE  IRON  BAND  143 

ing  everything  for  him;  true;  but  was  not  a 
risk  worth  taking  for  everything  in  life  worth 
having?  She  would  leave  loneliness,  solitude, 
days  of  weariness  and  nights  of  anguish  behind 
her;  she  would  find  with  him  peace,  under- 
standing, joy. 

Lowe  was  to  return  the  next  day.  Carleton 
telephoned  Rita  in  the  afternoon;  her  voice 
sounded  strained  and  unnatural,  he  thought. 
She  laughed  once  or  twice,  mirthlessly.  Yes, 
he  could  come  again  that  evening. 

Eight  o'clock  found  him  in  the  drawing- 
room,  his  mind  made  up.  She  was  too  keenly, 
too  vividly  alive,  he  told  himself,  to  drag 
out  longer  such  an  existence  as  that  of  the 
past. 

As  she  entered,  he  sprang  toward  her,  but 
she  put  up  one  hand  warningly. 

"You  mustn't!"  she  said  quickly.  "Sit 
down  here  by  the  fire  and  we  can  talk." 

Surprised,  he  obeyed  her.  She  seated  her- 
self in  the  great  arm-chair  opposite,  facing  him 
bravely.  A  moment  he  looked  at  her — at  the 
curve  of  her  arm  as  it  lay  along  the  chair,  at 
the  tender  modelling  of  her  white  neck  and 
shoulder,  at  the  pallor  of  her  face  and  at  the 
dark  mystery  of  her  hair — and  something  caught 


144  THE  IRON  BAND 

curiously  at  his  heart.     Before  he  realised  it, 
he  was  bending  over  her. 

She  rose  quickly,  as  if  she  had  expected  this, 
and  a  look  almost  of  terror  came  into  her  eyes. 
"  Ah,  Carlo!  "  she  begged,  "  do  please  mind  me 
this  once;  sit  down  there  and  remember:  you 
mustn't  come  near  me!  " 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  stammered,  astounded, 
"  Don't  you  want  me  to  touch  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  slowly.     "  You  mustn't." 

"  Why,  dear?  It  isn't  that  you  don't  really 
care  for  me?  " 

Again  she  shook  her  head.  "  No,  not  that, 
but — oh,  my  dear,  what  are  you  and  I  to  do? 
I  feel  as  though  I  were  in  some  horrible  network 
that  bound  me  hand  and  foot.  And  just  out  of 
reach  is  happiness — ah,  why  can't  we  reach  it?  " 

"Break  the  meshes!"  he  said,  half-aloud. 
"  Life  is  too  short  at  best  to  waste  a  moment  of 
sweetness.  Break  the  meshes,  sweetheart:  we 
can  leave  Fritz  behind,  and  step  clear  of  every 
bar." 

"  You  mean?  "  she  questioned,  wide-eyed. 

"  Only  a  legal  separation,  dear — that  isn't 
such  a  terrible  thing,  is  it?  And  think  of  what 
it  means  to  us!  " 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  her  eyes  brimmed 


THE  IRON  BAND  145 

suddenly  over;  she  sank  back  into  the  chair 
and  hid  her  face;  a  storm  of  weeping  swept 
her,  and  when  his  arms  enclosed  her,  she  did 
not  shake  them  off. 

"  Ah,  Carlo!     Carlo!      If  it  only  could  be!  " 

"  It  can,  sweetest  of  women,"  he  urged.  "  It 
can  be — it  must  be!  " 

"It  can't!  It  can't!  If  you  only  knew! 
Oh,  Carlo!  Carlo!" 

The  tears  choked  her.  Carleton  held  her 
silently,  stroking  her  hair,  waiting  for  the 
storm  to  pass.  As  she  grew  quieter  he  spoke : 

"  Sure  you  don't  want  to  be  alone,  dear?  " 

"Oh,  no— no!  Don't  leave  me!  It's 
only—" 

"  There,  sweetheart.  Don't  try  to  tell  me 
if  it  pains  you." 

"  Ah,  but  I  must — I  must!     Carlo — I — Fritz 
—I  can't  go  with  you,  because  of  my  child!  " 

A  cold  hand  clutched  suddenly  at  Carleton's 
heart.  A  moment  he  sat  stupidly,  not  com- 
prehending; then  a  cruel  light  broke  upon  him. 

"  Rita  dear — you  mean— 

The  sobs  had  stopped  now;  she  was  very  still. 
He  could  hardly  hear  her  voice. 

"  I  mean — I  am  going  to  have  a  baby."  The 
words  came  slowly,  painfully.  Her  voice  was 


146  THE  IRON  BAND 

strained  and  hoarse,  and  her  hands  were  clench- 
ing and  twisting  in  her  lap. 

Then  over  the  man  swept  a  flood  of  blind, 
unreasoning,  demoniac  rage.  Lowe — damn  him ! 
—had  wrecked  her  life.  Oh — if  he  could  only 
sink  his  fingers  into  that  thick  throat,  hammer 
the  heavy  head  against  some  wall  of  steel  till 
the  metal  should  ring  with  the  blows,  batter 
the  life  madly  out  of  the  unwieldy  body !  His 
hands  closed  convulsively  upon  the  padded 
chair-arm.  He  was  shaking  all  over. 

The  fit  passed.  The  girl  looked  up  at  him 
with  questioning,  tormented  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Carlo?  "  she  asked.  "  Don't 
you  see  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  go  with  you 
—even  if  you  wanted  me  now?  "  Her  voice 
broke,  pitifully. 

He  caught  her  to  him  in  fierce  protest. 
''  Want  you?  Of  course  I  want  you  just  the 
same!  " 

"  No,  Carlo,  it  wouldn't  be  the  same.  You 
know  it — or  you  will  know  it  when  you  can 
think  clearly.  But  what  makes  it  impossible 
is  that — my  baby  mustn't  ever  think  of  his 
mother  what  they  would  say  of  me  if  I  should 
go  to  you.  For  you  don't  know  Fritz — he 
would  be  a  madman,  and  everyone  would 


THE  IRON  BAND  147 

learn  everything.  O — think,  Carlo!  Think  for 
yourself  what  it  would  be  like!  We  can't  do 
it!  We  can't!  I  ought  to  have  told  you  last 
night — I  was  mad  or  dreaming;  but  I  see  it 
now.  Carlo — try  and  make  it  a  little  easier 
forme!" 

"  But  Rita!  "  he  burst  out,  "  do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  say  good-bye  to  you  just  because 
of  this — to  walk  out  of  this  room  forever?  I 
realise  that  concealment  won't  do  any  longer, 
but  you  can  come  away  with  me  at  least— 

"  But  that's  just  what  I'm  telling  you  is 
impossible,  my  dear,"  she  interrupted.  '  Think 
again!  I'm  a  woman,  Carlo,  and  in  a  case  like 
this  it's  always  the  woman  who  sees  clearest! 
Even  if  I  should  go  with  you,  how  could  we 
manage  it?  You've  barely  money  enough  to 
support  yourself,  and  it  would  mean  a  break 
with  every  friend  you  have." 

'  We  could  manage  somehow,"  he  protested. 
"  Rita  darling — things  like  that  don't  really 
matter!  I  love  you — I  want  you!  You  know 
you  love  me.  That's  the  one  big  fact — the 
others  don't  count.  There  must  be  some 
way — " 

"  There  isn't,  Carlo,"  she  broke  in  with  forced 
calmness.  "  Not  a  way  in  the  world.  I've 


148  THE  IRON  BAND 

thought  it  all  out,  again  and  again,  since  last 
night,  and  there's  no  escape.  You  simply 
must  leave  the  city  at  once  and — and  for  good." 
"Rita,  I  won't!  And  that's  flat!"  he  de- 
clared. "  Leave  you  behind  to  loneliness  and 
pain  while  I  go  out  into  the  world  again  to  try 
and  forget!  In  heaven's  name,  why?  The 
other  way  may  have  difficulties,  but  this  is  a 
thousand  times  worse." 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  she  told  him,  "won't  you 
even  try  to  see?  Don't  let  love  blind  your 
eyes!  This  way  is  hard  for  us  both,  God 
knows  " — her  low  voice  shook  a  little — "  but 
the  other  way  means  one  brief  taste  of  heaven 
and  endless  years  of  hell.  No — listen!  " —as 
he  tried  to  interrupt.  "  We're  simply  arguing 
in  a  circle.  There's  every  law  of  man  and  God 
to  keep  me  here,  and  only  utter  selfishness  to 
urge  my  going.  Don't  misunderstand  me, 
dear  "  —quickly,  as  she  saw  the  hurt  look  in 
his  eyes — "  I'm  not  talking  about  you;  I  mean 
my  own  selfishness  in  putting  myself  before  my 
child  and  my  husband." 

"  Dearest,"  he  said,  as  one  fighting  for  his 
very  life,  "  you're  the  last  person  on  earth 
anyone  could  call  selfish.  Is  it  selfishness  to 


THE  IRON  BAND  149 

listen  to  the  calling  of  your  heart?  Isn't  it 
rather  the  most  perfect  obedience?  " 

"  Carlo,"  she  whispered,  a  faint  smile  on  her 
lips,  "  yours  is  the  voice  of  the  tempter.  My 
resolve  is  unwavering." 

And  then  suddenly  the  smile  vanished  and  the 
tears  came.  She  hid  her  face  against  his  breast, 
and  her  arms  tightened  convulsively  about  his 
neck.  And  somehow,  in  the  midst  of  that 
storm  of  weeping,  there  came  to  the  man  a 
realisation  of  the  heights  of  self-sacrifice  to  which 
she  had  attained,  and  of  the  depths  of  her  pas- 
sion and  pain.  He  knew  in  his  soul  that  she 
was  right;  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
tried  to  stifle  the  promptings  of  his  own  heart, 
that  he  might  be  not  more  lacking  in  nobility 
than  she. 

She  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet.  "  And  so," 
she  said,  carefully,  as  one  phrasing  a  set  little 
speech,  "  this  is  good-bye." 

Her  eyes  were  bright  with  tears,  her  lips 
aquiver,  but  she  put  out  one  white  hand  bravely. 

"Rita!" 

The  next  instant  she  was  close  against  his 
heart  again,  his  arms  about  her,  and  his  lips 
on  hers.  For  one  wild,  sweet  moment  it  seemed 
that  nothing  mattered  after  all;  passion-shaken, 


150  THE  IRON  BAND 

he  breathed  the  fragrance  of  her  hair,  kissed  her 
eyes,  her  mouth,  as  she  clung  to  him. 

"Forever — oh,  my  soul!"  she  whispered, 
and  strained  him  to  her  breast. 

Then,  panting,  she  struggled  back  and  away 
from  him. 

"  Leave  me,  Carlo!     Oh,  you  must!  " 

He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  Then 
she  said: 

"  Fritz  is  coming  home  to-morrow.  Write 
him  a  letter — anything — explaining  why  you 
have  left.  You  know  it  must  be  Adieu — not— 
not  auf  Wiedersehen." 

Her  low  voice  trembled.  His  gaze  followed 
longingly  as  she  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  of  the  room,  and  his  whole  soul  was 
aching  to  kiss  away  the  tears  that  he  knew  were 
gleaming  in  her  eyes.  Then  somehow  he  swung 
the  heavy  door  shut  behind  him,  and  went 
stumbling  down  the  winding  stairs. 

ALBERT  F.  LEFFINGWELL. 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 


A  YOUNG  MAN   IN   WRONG 

ACK,    please — please — not    so    fast. 
"Please!" 

She  seized  his  arm  frantically. 
11  Brhh.  ..."    That  was  all  that 
|  was  audible  from  the  man  at  the  wheel.  (His 
eye  was  on  the  road  ahead,  and  he  sat  hunched 
up,  in  the  most  approved  motoring  fashion^ 
"  "  Please— please!     I'm  so  frightened!  " 

"  Got  to.  .  ._.  "  ReT  said  something  else, 
but  it  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  the  motor  and  the 
whistle  of  the  wind. 

The  girl  turned  and  looked  back  down  the 

dusty  road.     Barely,  through  the  clouds  behind 

them,  she  saw  a  machine  rounding  the  corner, 

(   but  it  was  the  one  they  had  just  passed,  not 

r    the  one  she  was  looking  for. 

The  man  at  the  wheel  whirled  the  car  fiercely 
round  a  corner,  and  the  girl,  in  her  awkward 
position,  almost  fell  out.     She  screamed,  and 
called  out  hysterically,^"" 
"  Not  so  fast!     Phase!" 

153 


154  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

Jack  only  shook  his  head.  An  unfortunate 
chicken  changed  from  squawkiness  to  nothing- 
ness under  their  flying  wheels — but  there  was  no 
time  to  lament  him.  A  dog  challenged  a  race, 
but  was  behind  before  he  had  started.  There 
was  a  glimpse  of  two  startled  country  faces, 
that  amused  the  girl  so  that  she  forgot  the  speed 
long  enough  to  turn  and  look  at  them — but 
they  were  far  in  the  distance. 

The  girl  started  to  speak  again,  but  the  rau- 
cous horn  drowned  her  voice,  and  when  that  had 
stopped  they  were  storming  up  a  hill  with  racket- 
ing cut-out.  She  tried  seizing  his  arm  again, 
but  he  glared  so  fiercely  at  her,  and  the  car 
swerved  so  terribly,  that  she  drew  back  fright- 
ened^,'"Desperation  seized  her. 

"  If  you  don't  slow  up,  I'll  .  .  .  " 

He  did  not  hear  her.  With  sudden  motion 
she  bent  over  the  dash-board,  hand  on  the 
battery  switch.  He  saw  her  action  and  bent 
to  stop  her.  Their  hands  met  on  the  little 
knob,  wrestling  for  it.  He  almost  had  it, 
when  the  car  swerved.  He  sat  up  suddenly 
with  a  wrench  at  the  wheel  that  just  saved 
them.  She  sat  up,  too,  with  a  large  part  of 
the  switch  in  her  hand,  and  a  larger  conscious- 
ness of  having  done  more  than  she  intended. 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  155 

The  engine  stopped  short,  there  was  a  screech- 
ing of  brakes,  and  the  car  drew  up  in  a  cloud  of 
dust 

Evelyn  looked  at  Jack,  guiltily.  His  face 
was  firm — and  fiery.  CShe  waited  for  him  to  ss 
something.  He  refused,  and  grew  firmer  in 
aspect  every  moment.  Something  had  to  be 
said.  /  She  ventured : 

"Oh." 

"  Damn!  "     He  looked  many  of  them. 

"  Please   don't.     I  know  that— it's— Please." 

She  was  confused.  He  was  furious — and 
articulate  at  last./ 

"  Now  damn  it  all,  Evvy — ." 

"  Don't  call  me  Evvy,  in  the  same  moment 
that  you  call  me  damn — that  is — don't — Oh, 
you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  No,  I  don't,  and  confound  it  all,  I  don't 
care  what  you  don't  like  to  be  called;  it's  a 
Hell  of  a  note." 

"  Jack!  " 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  like  it,  explain  why  you— 
well,  you  see  what  you've  done.     Give  me  back 
]   what  was  the  switch — What  the  devil?  " 

T^Evelyn  was  standing  up  leisurely  in  "the  car,) 
wrapping  the  veil  round  her  hat.     She  looked 
at  the  irate  man  a  moment  without  answering, 


156  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

then  drawing  up  her  skirts  a  trifle,  stepped 
out  of  the  car,  and  started  across  the  road, 
head  in  air.  Jack  watched  her  in  blank  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  say,"  he  finally  managed  to  gasp,  "  what 
are  you  up  to,  and  where  are  you  going?  ' 

No  answer.     Head  higher  in  the  air. 

"  For  Lord's  sake,  girl,  what's  the  matter?  " 

With  very  conscious  indifference,  she  wiped 
an  imaginary  speck  off  her  glove  with  a  hand- 
kerchief. 

Jack  Harris  looked  round  for  something  to  hit. 
He  happened  on  the  Klaxon.  It  gave  a  ghastly 
shriek.  Evelyn  started  at  the  sound,  and, 
not  looking  where  she  was  going,  stumbled  into 
a  ditch.yxjack  sprang  hastily  from  the  seat, 
taught  his  foot  in  a  tire-case,  fell  flat  in  the  dust 
~ — and  was  at  her  side  in  a  minute. 

"  Are  you  hurt?  ") 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  scorning  his  assistance, 
flapped  a  little  dust  off  the  immaculate  skirt, 
confined  a  loose  lock  of  hair,  and  answered 
carelessly : 

"  Yes." 

"  For  God's  sake,  where?  " 

He  looked  at  her  feverishly,  up  and  down,  as 
if  expecting  to  see  a  stray  rib  peeking  out  of 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  157 

her  collar,  or  a  loose  artery  dangling  on  the 
ground.     She  smiled  a  trifle. 

"  Not  that  way/' 

nternally?  " 

Yes, — mentally.     I    am    wounded,    disap- 
pointed in  you,  Mr.  Harris." 

"  Mr.  Harris!  For  Heaven's  sake,  Evvy! 
What  is  the  matter?  Just  because  I  damned  a 
little? Everybody  does  that,  jmd  ithelps— a 

as  going'  to  teach  you  aftej/we 
know  what.     It'll  help  you — some  da 

"Mr.  Harris!  If  you  please,  don't  add 
vulgarity  to  your  other  offences." 

"  Other  offences?  Well,  I  give  up!"  He 
made  expressive  gestures.  "  Please  explain  to 
me,  in  words  of  one  syllable,  what  the  trouble 
is  and  why  you're  wandering  round  the  middle 
of  the  road  making  your  toilette.  Aren't  we 
eloping?  Anybody  coming  along  the  road  would 
think  we  were  already  married." 

She  smiled  a  trifle;  then,  musingly: 

"  I  wish  Father  would  come.     He  ought  to 
I  have  caught  us  by  this  time." 
"^Father!" 

"  Yes."  She  looked  down  the  road,  but  no 
one  was  in  sight,  and  she  shook  her  head. 

Jack  seemed  struck  with  an  idea. 


158  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Any  way,  he  might 
be.  Let's  see  what  I  can  do  with  the  switch 
you  did  your  best  to  bug." 

He  started  for  the  car.     She  caught  his  arm. 

"  Wait  a  minute." 

"  But  if  somebody  should  come." 

"  Wait  a  minute." 

"  But—." 

"  Wait." 

Her  voice  was  so  imperative  that  he  stopped. 

"  Sit  down  here  a  moment  beside  me.  I  want 
to  say  something.  They  won't  catch  us. 
There,  beside  me." 

He  sat  down  next  to  her  on  a  comfortable  - 
looking  stone.  In  a  moment,  cautiously,  he 
put  an  arm  round  her.  She  smiled,  sadly. 

"  All  right,  if  it  gives  you  any  pleasure.  It 
doesn't  hurt  me." 

The  arm  was  withdrawn  in  a  flash.  There 
was  a  moment  of  silence.  Jack  was  glumly 
resolved  not  to  say  a  word,  and  she  seemed  to 
be  planning  her  speech  carefully.  Finally  she 
spoke. 

"  Well,  Jack,  I  don't  quite  know  how  to  say 
it." 

"  If  I  had  any  idea  in  the  world  what  you 
wanted  to  say,  I  might  be  able  to  help  you." 


A  YOUNG   MAN  IN  WRONG  159 

"  Please  don't  be  nasty.  The  situation,  you 
see,  appears  to  be  that  we've  made  a  mistake. 
Now  haven't  we?  " 

A  grunt  from  the  figure  on  the  next  stone. 

"  Very  well  then — but  we  have."  She  waited 
for  him  to  say  something,  but  he  refused. 
Finally  shrugging  her  shoulders  a  trifle,  she 
went  on,  "  Here's  the  situation:  I  liked  you, 
and — this  is  no  time  for  modesty — you  were 
crazy  to  marry  me." 

"  I  should  be,  I  guess." 

"  Passed  by,  completely.  You,  I  say,  were 
crazy  to  marry  me.  I  thought  we'd  better  not. 
You  pressed  me ;  I  was  wise,  and  refused. 
Isn't  that  so?  " 

"  Yes,  at  intervals." 

"  Right.  Then,  one  day  I  was  feeling — Oh, 
I  don't  know  exactly  how  to  explain  that  feeling, 
but  you  understand?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  I  comprehend  you 
completely." 

"  Thank  you.  In  a  moment  of  rashness  I 
gave  in.  You'll  admit  it  was  unexpected?  " 

"  Very." 

"  I  gave  in  and  consented  to  this  elopement." 

"  No!  I  can't  stand  that  '  consented.'  As 
if  I  forced  you  to  it!  When  you  once  made  up 


160  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

your  mind — Heaven  only  knows  why  you  did  it 
so  suddenly — then  you  forced  me  to  it.  And 
of  all  the  ridiculous  things!  To  elope  on  a 
ladder  in  broad  daylight  in  the  streets  of 
Brookline!" 

"  It  was  necessary." 

"  Necessary!  Bah!  All  you  had  to  do  was 
to  walk  out  with  your  suit- case  and  meet  me 
round  the  corner.  Instead,  you  climb  out  of 
a  window,  almost  break  your  neck,  shin  along 
the  garage  roof,  and  slide  down  a  ladder,  almost 
killing  both  of  us.  You  realise  that  your 
s  laller  suit-case  hit  me  square  on  the  nose?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     That  was  funny!  " 

"  Funny!     Go  on,  I'm  calm." 

*  Very  well.  You  force  me  to  elope,  pack  me 
and  my  suit-cases  into  your  miserable  little 
machine,  without  any  maid — and  drive  off!  " 

"  Imagine  how  a  maid  would  have  looked 
straddling  the  hood!  " 

"  Don't  be  absurd.  This  whole  business  is 
too  absurd.  You  drive  me  off,  without  a  maid, 
only  two  suit-cases  and  a  hat-box,  rush  reck- 
lessly through  the  main  street  of  Brookline, 
where  anybody  might  see  us,  won't  stop  at  the 
corner  to  let  me  say  good-bye  to  Mary — and 
then  drive  so  fast  that  it  frightens  me  to 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN    \\  i  161 

i.     Now  what  have  you   got  to  say   for 
yourself?  " 

"  Nothing,   but  that  it's  all   absolute   i 
sense." 

"  Nonsense?  I  ask  you  to  go  slower.  You 
refuse.  Our  temperaments  don't  agree.  You 
go  faster.  I  scream.  You  laugh.  What  have 
you  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

She  tossed  her  head  in  a  way  implying  that 

she  had  settled  the  matter  for  good.     Jack  was 

t;  for  a  moment,  his  face  working  strangely ; 

then  suddenly  he  burst  into  roars  of  laughter. 

Evelyn  looked  at  him  exasperatedly. 

"  Are  you  laughing  at  me,  sir?  ' 

He  shook  his  head  feebly,  too  convulsed  to 
speak. 

'  What  are  you  laughing  at  then?  " 

"  At— at— at-  ." 

"  Don't  laugh  in  my  face.  What  are  you 
laughing  at?  " 

"M— m— me!" 

'  M  — m — m — me?  "  she  sputtered. 

"  Don't  imitate  me,"  he  shook  his  head  feebly; 
"  I  can't  stand  it.  If  you  like  it  any  better, 
I  am  laughing  at  I.  " 

Evelyn  stamped  her  foot  furiously — then 
made  a  violent  change  of  tactics,  and  burst  into 


162  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

tears.  The  effect  was  instantaneous.  Jack 
had  almost  got  control  of  himself.  Now  he 
burst  into  fresh  convulsions.  It  took  her  com- 
pletely aback.  She  forgot  to  cry,  half  choked, 
made  a  funny  little  sputter,  and  then, 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Is  it  so  funny  to  see 
me  reduced  to  tears?  " 

"  Reduced? — Oh,  that's  good — yes,  awfully 
funny." 

"Oh!"  The  little  word  meant  a  lot— but 
Jack  was  proof. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't  help  it.  It's  simply 
Hell  to  have  a  sense  of  humor.  I  know  you 
don't  like  the  colloquialism,  but  it  does  so  well. 
Don't  you  think  it  is?  " 

"  No.  I  wouldn't  agree  with  you  for  any- 
thing! What  are  you  laughing  at?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  so  funny,  because — ." 

"  Well?  " 

"  Because  this  is—." 

"  Go  on.     I  know  it's  profane,  but  go  on." 

"  It's  so  funny  because  this  is  an  elopement!  " 

"  Not  so  funny  for  me.  Whose  elopement  is 
it,  mine  or  yours?  " 

"Ah  ..." 

Jack  collapsed  on  the  ground,  and  rolled  in 
laughter.  The  ground  about  him  was  shaken 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  163 

with  the  violence  of  his  mirth,  and  his  kicks 
sent  stones  and  twigs  flying  in  every  direction. 

Evelyn,  figuratively,  rushed  round  in  circles. 
Actually  she  performed  a  series  of  small  actions, 
to  no  obvious  purpose,  and  to  no  visible  result. 
She  started  to  approach  Jack,  then  dodged  back 
to  escape  his  left  foot.  She  started  to  hail  a 
passing  machine,  went  so  far  as  to  wave  impera- 
tively, then  changed  her  mind  and  frowned  so 
coldly  when  it  stopped,  that  the  occupants  went 
on  again,  firmly  decided  that  the  resolute  young 
woman  and  the  prostrate  young  man  were  a 
pair  of  lunatics,  pathetic,  but  safer  let  alone. 
A  rustic  gentleman  with  a  pail  lingered  near, 
and  seemed  sympathetically  interested  in  the 
young  pair — though  more  in  the  stranded 
machine — and  she  almost  told  him  her  troubles, 
but  pride  intervened.  With  a  sort  of  gasp, 
peculiar  to  incensed  ladies,  she  sat  down,  too 
angry  to  laugh,  and  too  excited  to  cry. 

There  was  silence.  The  rustic  had  disap- 
peared with  his  pail.  Several  machines  had 
gone  by  displaying  interest  or  amusement 
signals.  Children  from  a  farmhouse  near  by 
had  reconnoitred  and  run  away.  It  was  high 
time  for  something  to  be  done. 

Jack  decided  that  he  was  the  man  to  do  it. 


164  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

Without  a  word  he  got  up  and  went  to  the 
machine.  In  a  business-like  manner  he  pro- 
duced tools  from  the  box  on  the  running-board, 
and  shortly  was  heard  repairing  and  cursing. 

Evelyn  watched  with  interest.     Presently: 

"  Jack." 

No  response.     Again: 

"  Jack." 

"  Well?  "     He  was  very  curt. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  " 

"  Doing?  Oh,  I'm — There's  no  time  for  that. 
I'm  doing  my  best  to  fix  the  machine  you  did 
your  best  to  ruin." 

"  I  did  not.     And  when  you  get  it  fixed?  " 

"  We're  going  to  get  in  and  ride  to  Newbury- 
port  and  get  married." 

"  Indeed."     Very  simple  and  expressive. 

"  Yes." 

He  seemed  to  take  it  very  much  for  granted, 
and  went  on  wrestling  with  the  mysterious 
contrivance  on  the  dash.  Evelyn  considered, 
looking  carefully  down  the  road.  No  one  was 
in  sight. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  can  be  the  matter 
with  them?  Why  don't  they  come?  "  she  mur- 
mured to  herself.  Then,  with  a  last  glance 
down  the  road,  and  a  discontented  shrug  of  her 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  165 

shoulders,  she  turned  and  walked  up  to  the 
machine. 
"  Jack?  " 

"  Yes.    Pretty  nearly  ready.     Just  a  minute." 
"  No.     I     have    something    to    say."     She 
waited    a    moment.     He    went    on    working. 
"  Listen!     Aside  from  the  impropriety  of  your 
language,  which  we  won't  discuss  now,  I  should 
like  to  observe  that  we  aren't  going  to  New- 
buryport — and,"   with   great  emphasis,    "  that 
we  aren't  going  to  be  married." 
"  Indeed?  "     He  started  whistling. 
"  Stop  whistling!     Yes,  for  two  reasons." 
She    waited.     He    went    on    working.     She 
spoke  again,  impatiently. 

"  Do  you  care  to  hear  them?  " 
"  Not  passionately,  but  go  ahead." 
1  Very  well.     First  because  before  your  mis- 
erable machine  is  ready,  Father  will  be  here 
and  we  shall  be  hauled  back  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck." 

Jack  stopped  working  at  last,  and  tried  to 
inspect  the  scruff  of  his  neck.  After  twisting 
his  head  cautiously  in  all  directions,  he  smiled 
urbanely,  and  said: 

'"  Don't  think  mine  offers  much  hold.  Let's 
see  yours." 


166  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

"  Stop!  Don't  be  silly! — And,  secondly,  be- 
cause I  don't  want  to  go  to  Newburyport  and 
I  don't  want  to  marry  you." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  very  viciously,  and  faced 
her. 

"  Now  look  here,  Evvy,  let's  end  this  foolish- 
ness. As  for  your  father's  catching  us — he 
probably  doesn't  know  yet  that  we  have  eloped, 
and  if  he  does,  he  hasn't  the  faintest  idea  where 
we've  gone.  If  he's  doing  anything  at  all,  it's 
probably  driving  the  ancient  Mercedes  as  fast 
as  it  can  go,  which  isn't  very  much,  off  towards 
Worcester,  because  he  thinks  we'll  go  to  the 
preacher  I  know  out  there." 

"  He's  not  doing  anything  of  the  sort.  He's 
probably  after  us  this  very  minute." 

"  How  can  he  be?  " 

"  Well  I  told  him  we  were  going  in  this 
direction." 

"Told  him!" 

"  Yes,  in  the  note  I  left." 

"  The  note  you  left!  For  the — So  you  left  a 
note?  " 

"  I  couldn't  deceive  him.     He's  my  father." 

"  So  you  told  him!  Oh!  Well,  perhaps  it's 
a  noble  sentiment.  But  he  isn't  here  and  I've 
got  the  car  fixed.  Let's  be  off.  He  couldn't 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  167 

catch  us  in  his  old  bus,  if  he  were  coming  over 
the  hill  now.  And  of  course  this  business  of 
not  going  to  marry  me  is  all  tommy  rot." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind."  She  was  defiant, 
emphasising  with  a  sharp  gesture.  Jack  was 
exasperated. 

"  Now  come.  No  more  of  this  foolishness. 
I  don't  know  what  you  are  up  to,  but  now 
isn't  the  time  for  it.  Hop  in." 

"  I  won't." 

11  Do  you  expect  to  live,  grow  old,  and  pass 
away  peacefully  here?  What  did  you  come 
for?  " 

:<  I  don't  know."  Implying  that  the  question 
was  impertinent. 

"  For  the  ride,  I  dare  say." 

"  If  you  insist  on  being  nasty,  yes.  For  the 
ride,  by  all  means." 

Jack  threw  his  hands  into  the  air,  whistled 
a  snatch  of  a  tune,  tripped  a  few  violent  jig 
steps — and  started  laughing  again. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  my  dear,  to  have  to  laugh 
so  much.  I  know  you  dislike  it,  but  what  can 
one  do?  This  little  situation  is  so  tragic  from 
an  insider's  point  of  view  and  so  comical  from 
an  outsider's,  that  as  a  wise  man,  I  am  forced 
to  adopt  the  point  of  view — say — of  that  lugu- 


168  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

brious  rustic  in  the  distance  and  laugh.  He'd 
laugh  if  he  had  a  sense  of  humor.  You  admit 
that  the  situation  is  highly  comical?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Highly." 

"  Very  well." 

"  Thank  you.  Might  I  ask  what  it  is  due 
to?  Are  you  suffering  from  mid-Victorian 
maidenly  coyness?  Do  you  want  me  to  snatch 
you  up  in  my  arms,  cover  your  face  with  rough 
kisses,  and  bear  you  away  screaming,  nolens 
volens,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  No!  " 

"  All  right,  though  I  may  be  reduced  to  it 
later.  Then  are  you  quite  crazy?  " 

"No!" 

"  That's  encouraging  too.  Am  I  quite 
crazy?  " 

"  Well—." 

"  Out  with  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are."  She  smiled  a 
trifle. 

"  Better  and  better.  We're  neither  of  us 
crazy,  and  you're  not  feeling  mid-Victorian 
to-day.  Perhaps  you  think  it  bourgeois  to  elope 
on  a  Wednesday?  " 

"  Silly!     Will  you  never  understand!     Here's 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  169 

the  point.     You  begged  me  to  elope,   forced 


me  to." 


'  No!     You  proposed  it  yourself." 

"  It  was  your  idea.  In  a  weak  moment  I 
give  in.  We  start.  You  show  yourself  in  your 
true  colors.  I  discover  the  mistake  I  have 
made.  I  stop'  the  car,  I  hate  you,  and  I  am 
going  home.  Very  simple,  and  quite  to  the 
point.  Do  you  understand?  " 

;<  Is  this  serious?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  You've  thought  it  over?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  Then—." 

"  Yes?" 

"  Very  well." 

Jack  bowed  formally,  made  a  feeble  effort  to 
shrug  his  shoulders,  and  turned  toward  the  car. 

"  I  see.  Then  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  get 
into  the  car  and  go  back — if  you  will  conde- 
scend to  go  with  me.  People  will  probably 
think  that  we  have  just  been  out  for  a  little  ride, 
and  the  suit-cases  and  hat-boxes  are — filled  with 
gasolene.  But,  of  course,  you  left  a  note — " 

"  Yes,  I  had  to."  She  was  looking  anxiously 
down  the  road.  "  What  can  be  the  matter? 
Oh,  why  don't  they  come?  " 


170  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

Jack  looked  surprised.  "  You  seem  to  be 
rather  looking  forward  to  their  coming." 

"  Of  course—  No!  I  mean,  I—  Look, 
look!  Is  that  it?" 

She  pointed  frantically  to  a  big  car  that  had 
just  come  in  sight  round  the  corner,  and  was 
plunging  toward  them  with  immense  sound  and 
fury.  Jack  scanned  it,  smiling. 

"  I  should  suspect  it  was.  This  promises  to 
be  very  merry!  " 

The  car  slowed  up  as  it  approached.  A 
heavy,  begoggled  man  was  leaning  out  over  the 
side,  peering  closely  at  them.  For  a  moment 
he  was  doubtful,  then  recognised  them,  and 
spoke  a  hasty  word  to  the  driver.  The  roar  of 
the  engine  stopped,  heavy  tires  groaned  on  the 
gravel,  and  amid  a  cloud  of  gravel  and  dust 
the  big  car  drew  up  a  few  feet  beyond  the 
elopers. 

A  dramatic  pause  ensued.  Jack  stood  silent, 
trying  to  look  careless  and  unconcerned.  Eve- 
lyn seemed  to  be  thinking.  And  the  heavy  man 
in  the  car,  without  a  word,  took  off  his  goggles, 
wiped  them  methodically,  put  them  in  his 
pocket,  and  leisurely  stepped  out.  No  sooner 
had  his  feet  touched  the  ground  than  Evelyn 
finished  thinking  and  came  very  actively  to  life. 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  171 

"Jack,"  she  screamed,  "Jack!"  and  then 
rushed  for  the  surprised  young  man  and  threw 
both  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  Jack,  Jack,"  she  screamed  again,  "  don't 
let  me  go.  Please.  Protect  me.  Oh, 
Jack!" 

"  For  goodness  sake,  Evvy,"  he  started,  com- 
pletely taken  aback.  Then,  with  the  natural 
instinct  of  the  male  who  has  a  female  in  his 
arms,  he  squeezed  her  tight,  and  started  utter- 
ing incoherent  soothing  words. 

"  There,  there,  my  dear.  It's  all  right. 
There,  there." 

But  the  semper  mutabile  Evelyn  was  not  so 
easily  soothed.  Her  excitement  and  affection 
seemed  to  increase  every  moment  and  she  con- 
tinued to  throb  and  scream  violently,  exclaim- 
ing at  intervals: 

"  Oh,  oh,  don't  let  me  go,  Jack!  I  will  not 
leave  you.  Not  for  anything.  We  will  never 
be  separated.  Never.  Never!  " 

And  she  got  closer  and  closer,  and  Jack  more 
and  more  soothing. 

Longdon,  perc,  meanwhile,  had  been  watch- 
ing without  a  word.  Finally,  when  Evelyn's 
affection  had  become  inarticulate,  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  Curtis,"— to  the  muffled  and  goggled 


172  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

driver  at  his  side — "this  is  a  very  delightful 
domestic  scene  now,  isn't  it?  " 

Curtis  answered  only  with  a  nod,  but  the 
mention  of  his  name  had  an  almost  electrical 
effect  on  Evelyn. 

"  So  it's  you,  Curtis  Boy  den,"  she  cried, 
loosing  herself  from  Jack,  "  hiding  there!  I 
should  think  that  you  might,  coming  along  like 
this  to  spy  on  us.  Father,  why  did  you  bring 
that  man  with  you?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear—  " 

"  I  hate  him.  Make  him  go  away.  I  won't 
say  another  word  till  he  goes.  And  I  love  Jack. 
You  shall  never  separate  us.  Yes,  I  hate  him." 

Young  Boyden  had  meantime  taken  off  his 
goggles. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss  Longdon,  and  Mr.— 
Harris,"  he  began  courteously.  "  I  realise 
that  my  position  is — unfortunate;  but  your 
father's  driver  had  disappeared,  and  couldn't 
be  found  anywhere.  I  happened  to  be  near, 
and  he  asked  me  to  drive  the  machine.  That 
explains  my  presence.  Believe  me,— 

"  I  don't.  Not  a  word!  "  Evelyn  broke  in 
angrily;  "  I  believe  you  came  along  just  to  put 
us  to  shame." 

"  Evelyn."     Mr.    Longdon    was    reproving, 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  173 

but  still  smiling.  "  You  are  doing  him  an 
injustice.  I  don't  know  what  can  have  hap- 
pened to  our  man,  but  he  couldn't  be  found 
high  or  low,  and  Curtis  was  in  the  house,  and 
I  asked  him  to  drive  for  us.  Don't  be  unfair 
to  him." 

"I  won't.  I  hate  him.  And  I  love  Jack. 
I  never  will  leave  him." 

She  put  her  arms  round  Jack  again,  and  fairly 
glowered  at  poor  Boy  den.  Mr.  Longdon  broke 
into  a  laugh. 

' 'This  is  most  amusing,  my  dear — and  I  assure 
you,  quite  touching,  too.  I  hadn't  given  you 
credit  for  such  depth  of  feeling.  It's  very 
commendable  in  such  a  young  girl.  But  now, 
since  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  be  able 
to  stop  this  business,  let's  get  into  the  machine 
and  go  along  home." 

"  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  will,  when  you  think  it 
over." 

"  I  won't." 

"  Evvy!  " 

"  All  right — but  I  won't  go  home.  If  I  go 
anywhere  it's  to  Aunt  Agatha's.  I  won't  go 
home  and  face  Mother  and  everybody,  and  be 
laughed  at." 


174  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

Mr.  Longdon  thought  a  moment. 
*  Well,  I  don't  know  as  there  is  any  harm  in 
that.     But  I  haven't  time  to  drive  over  to  your 
aunt's.     It's  miles  out  of  my  way." 

"  Let  Jack  take  me." 

"  Trust  you  and  Jack!  Well,  if  you  both 
give  me  your  word." 

Evelyn     seemed     staggered    at    something. 
"  Eh—  "  she  hesitated;  "I  didn't  think  you'd— 
No,"  brightening  up  again.     "  I  refuse  to  do 
anything    like    that.     It's — it's — not    fair    to 
Jack." 

Mr.  Longdon  puckered  his  brows  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  The  only  other  thing  to  do  is  to  ride  over 
with  Curtis  and  let  Jack  and  me  ride  home 
together." 

Evelyn  started  in  apparent  anger;  then, 
thinking  better  of  it,  she  smiled. 

"  Very  well,"  resolutely,  "  and  I'll  tell  him 
what  I  think  of  him  all  the  way." 

Mr.  Longdon  laughed.  "  You'll  have  to  be 
a  man,  Curtis.  What  the—?" 

Evelyn  was  rapidly  trying  to  unfasten  the 
bags  and  boxes  on  Jack's  car. 

'  I  am  just  going  to  take  some  of  my  clothes 
to  my  aunt's,"  she  declared.  "  No,  don't  try 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  175 

to  stop  me.  I  insist.  I  want — to  show  them 
to  her.  She  will  sympathise." 

Mr.  Longdon  chuckled.  "  Not  if  I  know  your 
aunt.  But  go  ahead,  and  be  quick.  Help 
her,  Curtis. " 

In  Curtis's  quick  hands  the  work  lasted  but 
a  moment,  and  the  boxes  were  put  on  the  second 
machine.  Evelyn  looked  on  haughtily. 

"  There.  Thank  you.  You  have  done  so 
much  for  me  to-day.  And  now  if  you  will  take 
me  to  my  aunt's  and  not  say  a  word  all  the  way, 
I  shall  be  very  grateful." 

Her  tone  was  sarcastic,  the  look  in  her  eyes 
biting,  but  Curtis  was  discreet  and  silent. 
Shrugging  his  shoulders  slightly,  and  allowing 
himself  the  faintest  suggestion  of  a  smile,  he 
gave  his  hand  to  Evelyn  and  helped  her  into  the 
car.  The  engine  hummed,  the  gears  clanged 
faintly,  and  in  a  minute  they  were  disappearing 
down  the  road. 

Mr.  Longdon  and  Jack  Harris  watched  them 
as  they  vanished  into  the  distance,  each  waiting 
for  the  other  to  speak.  Neither  did  for  a  while; 
then  Mr.  Longdon  broke  the  silence. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Harris,  it  seems  that  we  are  to 
ride  back  together." 

"  Yes." 


176  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

"  In  that  case — why  not  start?  " 

"  Very  well." 

"  And  please  don't  be  so  offended.  You 
know  I  couldn't  quite  stand  for  your  running 
away  with  my  daughter  like  that.  It  was 
quite  out  of  the  question.  You  admit  that?" 

"  I  can't  honestly." 

"  I  was  afraid  so,  but  it  is.  I'll  explain  the 
whole  thing  to  you  later,  and  I  think  you'll 
understand  my  point  of  view.  But  believe  that 
I  have  no  grudge  against  you." 

"  Thank  you." 

Jack's  tone  was  cold  and  unyielding.  The 
older  man  pursed  his  brows  a  trifle. 

"  I  think  you're  a  trifle  more  difficult  than 
necessary,"  he  remarked.  "  I  mean  what  I 
say.  You  think  the  girl  really  loves  you?  " 

Jack  hesitated. 

"  Ah —  "  he  started  slowly,  then  brightened 
up.  "  You  noticed  her  when  you  came  up.  I 
thought  that  spoke  for  itself." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Quite  touching,  to  be  sure.  Well, 
we'll  talk  it  over  some  more.  How  about 
starting?  " 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

Jack  turned  the  car  round  and  they  were  on 
their  way  home.  Mr.  Longdon  tried  several 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  177 

times  to  start  a  conversation,  but  young  Harris 
made  little  return.  He  was  obviously  thinking, 
deep  and  hard.  But  finally  he  did  speak. 

"  Mr.  Longdon." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  noticed  when  you  came  up,  she  did 
fall  on  my  neck,  didn't  she?  " 

"  Emphatically !" 

"  Thank  you.  I  thought  so.  I  was  just 
wondering —  " 

"  I  was  too.  I  really  hope  you  aren't  holding 
it  against  me,  all  this  business  of  tearing  you 
young  things  quite  literally  from  each  other's 
arms.  I  have  nothing  against  you,  as  I  said, 
but — for  very  good  reasons,  it  couldn't  go  on— 
at  least  now.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shouldn't 
have  embarked  on  any  such  ridiculous  business 
as  chasing  eloping  daughters  in  a  machine,  if  it 
hadn't  been  necessary.  I  really  have  a  reason." 

"  I  believe  you,  sir." 

After  that  there  was  little  more  conversation, 
and  when  they  reached  the  big  house  in  Brook- 
line  at  last,  neither  man  had  spoken  for  an  hour. 

Mr.  Longdon  absolutely  insisted  that  Jack 
should  come  in  for  a  minute. 

"  I  have  some  more  things  to  say  to  you,"  he 
remarked/4  and  we  can  discuss  them  comfort- 


178  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

ably  here,  over  a  before-dinner  glass,  if  you 
say." 

"  I  am  sorry  sir,  but — 

"  No  buts.  You  have  caused  me  enough 
trouble  to-day.  Now  do  one  thing  for  me  and 


come  in." 


4  Very  well,  sir." 

They  sat  down  in  the  living-room  to  talk 
things  over.  Scarcely  had  they  begun,  when 
a  maid  brought  in  a  telegram  for  Mr.  Long- 
don.  Asking  Jack's  pardon  for  a  moment,  he 
opened  it. 

The  contents  seemed  to  interest  him  vitally. 
His  face  grew  pale  at  first,  then  flaming  red. 
He  sprang  up,  rapidly  crumpling  and  uncrump- 
ling  the  yellow  sheet  in  his  hand,  and  started 
pacing  furiously  round  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Longdon,  Mr.  Longdon,"  cried  Jack, 
really  fearing  apoplexy,  "  can't  I  do  anything?  " 

"  Yes.     Keep  still." 

And  he  stormed  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
Jack  bewildered  as  to  what  to  do  next. 

In  a  minute  the  maid  came  in  again. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  J.  Harris?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  A  telegram  for  you,  sir."  She  held  it  out 
to  him,  then  hesitated.  "  And— the  man  that 


A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG  179 

runs  the  machine — he's  back  again — and  says 
that  you  will  have  something  for  him." 

"  I?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  means.  Wait  till 
I  look  at  this." 

He  opened  the  telegram,  wondering  if  its  con- 
tents were  likely  to  give  him  apoplexy.  They 
very  nearly  did.  He  read: 

"  Jack:  Sorry  but  we  had  to.  Seems  like  a 
dirty  trick  but  only  way  there  was.  Curtis 
and  I  are  on  our  way  to  New  York  to  get  mar- 
ried. Forgive  me  and  soothe  Father  if  you 
can.  We  told  our  chauffeur  that  you  would 
give  him  something  for  being  out  of  the  way.— 
Evelyn." 

Jack  sat  down  in  a  chair  with  a  gasp.  The 
maid  watched  him  with  curiosity. 

"  More  bad  news?  "  she  ventured. 

"  Yes.  No.  Good  news,  I  think— I  don't 
really  know.  Where  is  Mr.  Longdon?  " 

Mr.  Longdon  just  then  came  striding  in. 
Jack's  telegram  caught  his  eye. 

"  Did  you  get  one  too?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  does  it  say?  " 

"  They're  off  to  be  married." 


180  A  YOUNG  MAN  IN  WRONG 

"  Does  she  say  where?  " 
"  Yes." 
"  Where?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  say." 
"  Yes  you  should.     You  should!  " 
Jack  thought  a  moment. 
"  I'll  get  even  with  her — and — him,"  he  said 
to  himself.     And  then  to  Mr.  Longdon: 
"  They've  gone — to  Newburyport." 

PHILIP  R.  MECHEM. 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 


HAPPILY   EVER  AFTER 

>E  COOGAN!  I  had  not  seen  him, 
nor,  to  tell  the  truth,  thought  very 
much  about  him  for  five  years.  Back 
in  college,  in  the  prehistoric  days  it 
seemed  to  me,  I  had  known  him  very  well  and 
liked  him.  We  had  been  intimate  as  far  as 
wearing  each  other's  collars  and  neckties  con- 
stitutes intimacy.  We  had  lived  together  for 
one  year,  and  we  had  been  more  like  friends 
than  roommates.  Now  here  he  was,  stepping 
up  to  me  out  of  the  crowd  on  the  street,  and 
holding  out  his  hand.  It  is  curious  how  friends 
come  and  go;  they  are  the  most  vivid  part  of 
your  life;  they  disappear  and  you  forget  them; 
then  suddenly  there  they  are,  in  an  unfamiliar 
pattern,  and  you  are  thinking  tremendously 
about  them,  trying  to  catch  up  the  thread  of 
their  memories  and  set  it  going  again  in  the 
woof  of  every-day  life.  I  had  heard  little  of  him 
since  we  graduated.  He  had,  I  knew,  gone  to 
Europe  to  continue  his  studies.  He  had  special- 

183 


184  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

ised  in  Byzantine  culture  or  some  outlandish 
thing  like  that.  I  remember  he  used  to  stand 
a  lot  of  chaffing  about  it.  That  was  hardly  the 
sort  of  thing  for  me.  I  had  gone  directly  into 
the  office,  and  in  my  way  I  was  not  making  a 
bad  reputation  for  myself.  He  looked  well 
enough.  I  wondered  what  he  had  been  doing. 
He  had  sent  me,  I  recalled,  a  vivid  set  of  post- 
cards representing  the  joys  to  be  found  at  an 
American  bar  in  Paris,  but  neither  of  us  was  the 
kind  to  write  letters.  Still,  however  little  we 
knew  about  each  other,  I  think  both  of  us  were 
very  glad  to  meet  again. 

I  remembered  his  tastes,  I  thought,  and 
started  steering  him  gently  toward  the  swinging 
doors.  I  myself  am  not  a  fair  sample  of  the 
Great  American  Boozefighter.  I  know  no  bar- 
tenders by  their  love-names,  nor  can  I,  to  tell 
the  truth,  ever  learn  to  order  a  cocktail  with 
perfect  assurance  as  to  just  what  I  am  going  to 
get.  But  I  thought  I  remembered  Coogan,  and 
one  must  have  a  place  to  talk. 

Joe  hesitated.     Then  he  smiled. 

"  No  thanks.  I've  sworn  off.  My  wife 
won't  let  me." 

"Married!"  and  I  suppose  I  gasped. 
"  Well."  Then  I  said  "  well  "  again;  for  it  is 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  185 

a  good  word.  I  might  have  said  more,  and  used 
the  simple  and  expressive  but  profane  diction 
of  our  college  days,  but  I  was  not  sure  how 
far  his  moral  regeneration  had  gone.  I  shook 
his  hand.  One  must  seem  enthusiastic  about 
these  things. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  I  went  on,  "  Helena?  "  For  I 
remembered  something  about  his  passionate 
devotion  to  a  goddess  of  that  name. 

Joe  smiled  again.  He  smiled  frequently,  I 
thought.  He  did  not  seem  to  realise  what  a 
serious  proposition  marriage  is  nowadays.  He 
seemed  to  take  it  as  a  joke. 

"  No/'  he  said,  "  there's  a  story*  to  that. 
She  isn't  Helena." 

We  finally  agreed  to  walk  uptown  to  the  park, 
and  sit  on  a  bench  and  watch  the  squirrels,  and 
listen  to  the  sad,  sweet  stories  of  our  lives — he 
to  tell  of  love  and  marriage  and  courtship,  and 
I  of  the  economics  of  corporations  and  the 
romance  of  modern  business  accounting. 

We  never  got  to  business  accounting;  we 
never  even  touched  on  it,  so  you  are  safe, 
gentle  reader.  After  all,  this  is  mostly  Joe 
Coogan's  story.  I  come  into  it  only  in  the 
most  explanatory  and  incidental  way.  Per- 
haps I  had  better  let  him  tell  the  story  himself, 


186  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

as  he  told  it  to  me  that  day  in  the  park,  with 
the  people  ever  passing  our  bench,  and  some  of 
the  shop-girls  looking  curiously  at  us  as  they 
passed,  and  some  hurrying  by,  and  always  the 
great  sun  falling  to  the  west.  It  was  a  story  he 
liked  to  tell.  As  I  watched  him,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  horizon — as  if  he  sought  there  to  read 
his  story — and  smiling  a  little  to  himself,  I  felt 
suddenly  that  after  all  I  did  not  know  him  so 
very  well,  and  that  it  was  quite  preposterous 
that  I  should  be  listening  to  his  story.  But 
I  did  not  blame  him  for  liking  to  tell  it,  or  for 
smiling.  After  all,  every  man,  and  I  myself— 
But  there  I  am  bringing  myself  into  the  story 
again,  which  is  not  what  I  promised  the  reader. 

You  remember,  ctfcn't  you  (this  is  about  what 
he  said),  how  very  sentimentally  I  used  to 
imagine  myself  in  love  with  Helena  Dyer? 
Or  rather  you  don't.  People  kidded  me  about 
her  at  college,  but  they  never  imagined  just 
how  foolish  I  really  was  about  her.  If  they 
had,  I  don't  believe  they  would  have  cared  to 
associate  with  me.  For  you  were  always  a 
practical  bunch.  But  anyway,  I  was  shock- 
ingly infatuated  with  her. 

I  don't  remember  exactly  when  it  started. 
I  remember  the  first  day  I  saw  her,  and  in  the 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  187 

days  of  my  madness  I  used  to  persuade  myself 
that  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight. 
That  was  in  the  grammar  school,  my  first 
bewildering  day  among  a  staring  horde  of  new 
faces.  I  was  given  a  seat  behind  her,  so  that 
the  first  thing  I  could  settle  my  eyes  on  was 
the  back  of  her  neck.  Perhaps  it  was  love  at 
first  sight.  Certainly  at  twelve  I  was  as 
sentimental  as  ever  I  was  at  eighteen.  You 
may  not  have  felt  the  same  way.  All  children 
may  not  be  so  precocious.  I  don't  know. 

Helena  Dyer!  The  very  name  is  a  part  of 
me.  I  collected  memories  of  her  as  other  boys 
do  coupons  or  stamps.  I  suppose  after  all  I 
was  beforehand  in  my  development.  I  started 
"  going  with  her  "  as  they  said  in  school.  I 
hung  round  in  a  rather  diffident,  shamed  way, 
and  I  continued  to  do  so  all  the  way  through 
college.  I  used  to  go  down  to  her  house,  and 
when  I  got  older  I  took  her  round  to  things. 
In  school  I  was  regarded  as  a  sort  of  accepted 
suitor.  But  I  never  was.  I  never  was  her 
"  gentleman  friend."  I  was  always  just  a 
person.  No  romantic  halo  or  charm  of  mystery 
ever  hung  round  my  head.  She  knew  me  too 
well.  I  used  to  think  of  things  like  kissing  her 
hand  and  murmuring  careless  little  references 


188  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

to  my  admiration  for  her.  But  I  never  worked 
them.  There  wasn't  any  chance.  Still,  people 
prophesied  freely  about  our  future  relations,  and 
offered  to  place  bets  on  the  result,  so  that 
at  least  I  scared  the  others  away,  and  kept  the 
field  clear. 

I  don't  know  exactly  what  the  Dyers  thought 
of  me.  I  don't  know  that  they  ever  did  think. 
They  took  me  for  granted.  When  I  came 
calling,  they  never  cleared  off  the  piazza  or 
deserted  the  parlor  or  arranged  any  other  of 
the  charming  little  lures  that  other  families  do. 
They  all  crowded  out,  and  each  seemed  to  think 
that  it  was  his  individual  presence  and  per- 
sonality from  which  I  was  seeking  inspiration. 

The  old  man  taught  me  to  play  pinochle, 
and  in  the  evenings  we  used  to  have  great 
battles,  while  the  rest  of  the  family  practised 
on  the  piano  or  sewed  or  read  aloud  or  critic- 
ised our  game.  Did  I  tell  you  about  the 
rest  of  the  family?  I  should  have.  Helena 
has  three  brothers  and  a  sister,  all  younger 
than  herself.  I  think  one  of  the  primary 
causes  of  my  sturdy  constitution  is  the  tho- 
rough and  vigorous  training  in  the  rough-house 
arts  that  those  brothers  put  me  through.  I 
have  the  scars  on  my  shins  yet.  Red-headed, 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  189 

every  one  of  them.  Helena  has  red  hair,  you 
know.  They  all  have  except  Mrs.  Dyer,  and 
she  is  the  least  accentuated  of  the  whole  family. 
Somehow  I  like  red  hair. 

Not  that  I  ever  minded  the  rough-house. 
It  was  good  fun,  sometimes.  One  of  our 
common  and  preferred  games  was  that  the 
three  brothers  were  hairy  cave-men,  and  that 
I  was  a  sabre-tooth  tiger.  They  lived  under 
the  piano,  and  I  had  to  try  and  eat  them  in 
their  cave. 

But  I  don't  want  to  forget  Lulu.  Lulu  was 
the  kid  sister.  She  was  my  pet  aversion. 
No  disturbance  was  complete  without  her. 
Generally  she  claimed  that  she  was  coming 
to  my  rescue.  As  after  years  of  contact  with 
her  brothers  she  had  developed  a  military 
system,  absolutely  irresistible  for  offence  or 
defence,  there  was  woe  to  the  hapless  victim 
whom  she  attempted  to  rescue.  He  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  battle  royal.  She  was  a  curious 
child;  not  like  her  sister,  I  thought;  at  times 
serious  and  thoughtful,  and  again  impetuous. 
She  informed  me  once  that  she  had  a  "  crush  " 
on  me,  and  tried  to  sit  on  my  lap.  When  I 
resisted  she  grew  angry,  and  afterwards  she 
would  wait  in  ambush  for  me  in  dark  places, 


190  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

and  try  to  kiss  me,  which  made  the  family 
laugh.  She  was  finally  convinced  that  her 
attachment  was  quite  unanswered  and  hopeless. 

O,  I  had  my  trials ! 

It's  pretty  hard  to  seem  the  passionate  lover 
in  that  kind  of  a  family.     I  used  to  see  Helena 
a  lot,  but  I  saw  the  rest  of  the  family  just  as 
much,  and  generally  at  the  same  time.     Sun- 
day nights  after  supper,  in  the  kitchen,  I  remem- 
ber as  the  one  time  when  I  might  look  forward 
to  being  alone  with  her.     Those  Sunday  even- 
ings I  shall  not  forget.     Why  should  I?     Then 
when  we  had  cleared  off  the  dishes  from  the 
supper    table,    I    washed    and    she    wiped.     I 
remember  I  used  to    think   about  those    eve- 
nings and  torture   myself  when  I  heard  that 
she  was   married  to  a  man   named    Spigotty. 
O,  he's  a  nice  fellow.     But  I'll  come  to  that. 
Those  Sunday  nights!     I  would  talk   and  she 
would  listen  and  laugh  and  say,  "  You're  crazy, 
Joey   dear,"  to   my   extravagancies.      Then    I 
would    raise    my    hands,   all   soapy   and   wet, 
in  vehemence,  and  she  would  laugh  again,  and 
I  would  have  to  be  silent. 

But  that's  all  over  now,  and  here  I  am,  a 
happy  married  man,  telling  it  to  you,  what  I 
have  never  told,  all  out,  to  any  man,  although 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  191 

I've  always  wanted  to.  I  imagine  every  man 
likes  to  tell  people  about  his  love.  It's  one 
way  of  expressing  it.  People  are  brought  up 
to  be  reticent,  but  it  only  makes  them  more 
sentimental.  I  can  stand  off  now,  and  look 
at  the  whole  thing  impersonally,  and  laugh 
a  little  at  myself  for  what  I  was.  I  suppose 
I'm  muddling  up  my  story.  What  I've  been 
trying  to  show  you  is  just  what  an  unromantic 
position  I  was  in.  It  was  no  hero's  job  If  I 
had  ridden  up  to  the  front  stoop  on  a  red 
roan  steed,  and  haughtily  demanded  Helena 
as  my  spouse,  the  kid  brothers  would  all  have 
insisted  on  coming  for  a  ride,  too,  and  the  old 
man  would  have  carefully  taken  off  his  spectacles 
and  asked,  "  Where'd  you  get  the  horse,  Joe?  " 

I  suppose,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  much 
better  that  Helena  didn't  like  me  well  enough 
to  marry  me.  We  never  knew  each  other  so 
very  well.  We  took  each  other  too  much  as  a 
matter  of  course.  And  yet  I  feel  that  I  was 
honestly,  sincerely  in  love  with  her. 

I  went  away  to  college,  and  of  course  we 
did  not  see  each  other  so  often.  We  used  to 
write  letters  back  and  forth.  Hers  came  gen- 
erally on  Thursdays.  Sometimes  they  did  not, 
but  that  was,  I  think,  because  she  forgot  to 


192  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

mail  them.  I  am  sure  that  she  always  wrote 
them  at  the  same  time.  My  letters,  as  my  style 
and  familiarity  with  literature  of  a  certain  type 
improved,  grew  more  and  more  absurd  and 
ridiculous.  When  I  came  home,  I  sometimes 
attempted  to  talk  in  this  high-sounding, 
peremptory  vein,  which  was  another  mistake. 
Helena  would  say  nothing  except,  "  You're 
crazy,  Joey  dear."  And  now  she  did  not  laugh 
so  much. 

I  remember  the  last  talk  of  this  kind  I  had 
with  her.  I  did  not  know  at  the  time  that  it 
was  really  our  final  parting,  that  is  so  far  as 
being  in  love  with  her  goes;  but  I  remember  it 
now.  When  I  saw  her  again  she  was  married. 
This  talk  has  always  persisted  in  my  mind  as 
singularly  inconsequential.  It  was  the  day  I 
sailed.  I  had  decided  to  do  something  drastic. 
My  father  suggested  that  I  continue  my  studies, 
and  offered  to  pay  my  expenses  abroad.  I 
planned  to  make  one  last  appeal  to  Helena, 
and  if  that  failed,  to  try  to  forget  her  by  going 
away.  Helena  came  down  to  the  boat  to  see 
me  off.  Of  course  Lulu  had  to  be  with  her. 
We  managed  to  lose  the  kid  for  a  minute  on 
the  deck,  and  I  had  my  opportunity.  I  can 
see  now  just  how  I  spoiled  it.  If  I  had  been  a 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  193 

trifle  less  absolute  and  positive  in  my  expres- 
sions, if  I  had  not  talked  quite  so  much,  she 
might  have  weakened.  This  story  would  have 
been  different.  As  it  was,  in  spite  of  the  inane 
language  I  had  borrowed  from  my  sentimental 
reading,  I  think  I  made  her  see,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time,  just  how  much  her  decision  did  count 
with  me.  It  was  hard  for  her,  I  know.  She  let 
me  hold  her  hand,  but  she  only  said,  "  I'm  sorry, 
Joey."  I  think  I  told  her  at  the  time  that  she 
was  cruel  and  heartless,  but  I  know  I  thought 
she  was  a  very  fine  girl.  And  she  was.  She 
was  worth  twice  the  noisy  puppy  I  was. 

It  was  Lulu  who  came  up  then  and  stopped  the 
forensics.  She  was  at  that  time  singularly 
unfortunate  in  her  appearance — rather  pale, 
freckled,  a  gaunt,  long-legged  girl  of  fourteen 
or  fifteen,  whose  hair  was  constantly  coming 
down  in  little  shreds.  Now  in  her  best  clothes 
she  looked  even  more  awkward;  she  was  not 
used  to  them.  Her  beauty  was  something 
to  be  sought  for,  not  easily  appreciated. 

Helena  kissed  me  good-bye  when  she  went, 
which  gave  me  a  certain  melancholy  pleasure 
until  Lulu  followed  it  up  with  a  warm  and 
quite  unexpected  smack.  At  that  moment  I 
detested  her. 


194  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

I'll  skip  over  what  I  did  in  Europe.  It  doesn't 
matter  very  much.  I  learned  a  lot,  about  some 
things.  My  knowledge  of  women,  if  I  may  so 
pompously  claim  any  acquaintance  with  the 
opposite  sex,  was  considerably  broadened  and 
deepened.  I  learned  to  appreciate  Helena  truly 
as  I  had  not  before.  After  all,  our  women  are 
the  best  and  finest  and  truest  in  the  world.  I 
saw  how  unworthy  I  was  of  her.  It  was  just 
about  the  time  that  I  was  getting  ready  to 
admit  that  she  was  worth  ten  of  me,  that  she 
sent  me  a  letter  announcing  her  approaching 
marriage.  Now  a  man  may  admit  that  he  is 
unworthy  of  a  woman,  but  he  is  also  unwilling 
to  admit  that  there  is  any  other  man  who  is. 
The  news  struck  me  quite  unexpectedly.  She 
had  not  told  me  before,  because  she  had  not 
been  sure.  After  all,  why  should  I  make  a 
fuss?  The  man's  name  was  Spigotty,  Chester 
Spigotty.  Probably  I  had  changed  my  mind 
anyhow.  She  invited  me  to  come  and  call  on 
them  immediately  when  I  returned. 

I  returned,  immediately.  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  sort  of  an  idea  I  had,  something 
like  that  stunt  of  Young  Lochinvar's,  I  suppose. 
O!  I  was  there  with  the  "  pep  "  and  anxiety 
for  personal  hand-to-hand  conflict  all  right. 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  195 

The  trouble  was  that  when  I  got  home,  they 
were  already  married,  and  settled  down  in  a 
little  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  town. 
And  then  again  I  could  find  no  fault  with 
Spigotty,  outside  of  the  fact  that  I  did  not 
like  the  name. 

Coogan,  "  Joey  dear,"  paused,  perhaps  for 
dramatic  purposes,  perhaps  to  catch  his  breath. 
He  eyed  me  quizzically.  (This  is  a  favorite 
performance  of  heroes.)  Then  fixing  his  eyes 
once  more  dreamily  on  the  horizon,  he  con- 
tinued his  monologue. 

When  I  got  home,  I  found  I  had  very  little 
to  do.  I  had  not  been  expected  back  so  soon, 
and  so  nothing  had  been  arranged  in  the  line 
of  work  to  greet  the  prodigal.  I  vacillated 
about,  thinking  too  much.  I  did  not  go  to  see 
the  Dyers.  I  went  to  see  hardly  any  one.  I 
was  posing  desperately  as  a  heartbroken  lover. 
I  thoroughly  pitied  myself.  You  know  you 
get  a  lot  of  pleasure  out  of  coddling  little  false 
sentimentalities.  And  you  start  writing  poetry. 
I  did  that.  And  you  walk  alone  in  the  night, 
and  raise  your  arms  majestically  to  the  stars, 
and  consign  your  Creator  to  everlasting  damna- 
tion and  oblivion.  It  is  very  pleasant  for  a 
time,  though  it  palls. 


196  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

There  is  a  hill  near  our  house  which  used 
to  be  the  scene  of  many  of  these  transports. 
I  wandered  moodily  there,  until  I  came  to  where 
I  could  see  facing  me  on  another  small  hill  the 
Dyers'  house.  I  could  see  the  piazza  where 
we  had  sat,  and  the  steps,  and  even  where  one 
end  of  the  boards  had  been  worn  down  by 
people  coming  up  that  corner.  Once  in  a 
while  I  would  see  some  one  moving  about, 
but  usually  the  house  seemed  very  quiet  now. 
I  never  met  any  of  the  family.  I  kept  away 
from  the  streets  where  I  might  encounter 
them. 

Then  one  day  I  did  see  her.  I  was  running 
across  the  hill  when  I  saw  a  girl  with  a  green 
umbrella  drying  her  red  hair  in  the  sun.  It  lay 
and  shimmered  on  a  warm  rock.  My  heart 
leapt  almost  before  I  was  sure  that  I  saw  her. 
I  could  never  mistake  her.  She  was  much  less 
changed  than  one  might  have  supposed.  I 
suppose  I  expected,  and  rather  hoped  her  to  be, 
a  little  bit  coarsened,  more  matronly  at  least, 
than  she  was.  There  were  slight  changes,  per- 
haps; there  always  are.  But  it  was  she.  You 
know  the  words  they  use  in  musical  comedies, 
"  my  one  girl,  my  dream  girl."  That's  the  way 
I  felt.  She  had  still  that  frank  maiden's  look 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  197 

of  hers.  I  stopped.  I  should  have  liked  to 
retreat.  But  she  saw  me. 

"  O  Joey,"  she  called  joyously. 

I  felt  suddenly  curiously  angry.  So  she  was 
married  now.  She  had  betrayed  me,  but  she 
thought  that  with  a  word  she  could  call  me 
back  to  her  service  again.  She  probably  missed 
my  attentions  now  that  she  was  married.  I 
would  show  her  I  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  I 
would  show  her  that  I  was  as  dangerous  as 
any  man,  that  one  should  not  play  with  fire. 
I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  myself.  You  think 
me  an  idiot.  Of  course  I  was;  I  admit  it. 
I  went  to  her  stupidly  and  took  her  in  my 
arms. 

I  had  expected  that  she  would  struggle,  and 
in  between  her  panting  gasps  for  help,  I  would 
plant  my  kisses  on  her  mouth;  that  she  would 
fly  from  my  approach  with  little  shrieks,  till 
running  behind  her  I  should  catch  and  hold  her. 
Nothing  of  the  kind  happened.  She  rose  and 
gave  me  her  hand,  with  a  smile;  and  when  I 
put  my  arm  round  her,  she  said  nothing.  I 
looked  down  at  her  from  my  superiority.  She 
looked  at  me  and  smiled  again;  and  then  she 
blushed,  and  with  her  free  hand  started  to 
straighten  my  necktie.  Then  she  grew  restless. 


198  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

"  You're  awfully  warm,  Joey,"  she  said,  "  don't 
hold  me  so  tight." 

I  let  her  go.  She  sat  down  and  made  a  place 
for  me  beside  her.  Then  she  moved  up  a 
little  closer,  and  gave  me  the  green  parasol  to 
hold.  At  last  she  seemed  perfectly  comfort- 
able. I  was  dazed.  O,  I  thought,  if  I  had 
tried  this  before,  I  might  have  had  better  luck. 
And  then  I  thought,  no.  This  is  her  marriage. 
That  is  what  has  changed  her.  She  is  no  longer 
a  maiden.  She  is  not  even  a  faithful  wife. 
Once  let  her  restraint  go,  and  she  becomes 
absolutely  free.  I  was  horrified.  Though  I 
had  often  pictured  our  meeting  with  many 
dramatic  details,  they  had  never  been  such  as 
these.  It  was  to  be  in  the  dim  future,  and  full 
of  gentle,  half-regretful  allusions  from  both 
parties.  Suddenly  I  felt  it  repulsive,  this 
sensual  surrender.  She  was  morally  unclean. 
I  was  not  only  disgusted,  but  I  was  sorry  for 
the  deceived  husband.  Now  this  woman,  mar- 
ried to  an  honest  man,  was  lying  close  to  me, 
whom  she  had  once  rejected.  Her  head  was  on 
my  shoulder.  I  felt  it  there.  Her  red  hair  was 
down  and  falling  all  over  me.  I  started  to  talk. 

It  was  a  good  talk,  I  wish  I  could  remember 
it.  I  went  into  full  details  of  the  psychology 


HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  199 

of  my  past  and  present  life.  How  I  had  loved, 
and  how  I  had  lost,  and  how  now  I  had  found 
again.  My  ideals  and  now  their  utter  destruc- 
tion. The  terrifying  spectacle  of  an  unchaste 
woman — woman,  the  core  of  society.  She  grew 
serious  at  that,  and  I  continued.  I  spoke  of 
my  growing  cynicism — of  how  until  that  day 
I  had  not  believed  a  woman  could  be  so  vile. 
Now  I  distrusted  the  whole  sex.  I  was  no 
longer  deceived.  They  were  merely  animals  and 
should  be  treated  as  such.  I  despaired  of  the 
whole  human  race.  I  pointed  out  only  two  pros- 
pects now  open  to  me — the  river,  or  an  attempt 
to  forget  all  in  a  vast  career  of  dissipation. 

She  put  her  warm  arms  about  my  neck,  and  I 
thought  she  wept. 

She  did  not.  She  was  laughing.  Why  should 
she  laugh?  O,  she  was  low.  And  yet?  She 
was  laughing.  I  was  offended. 

"  O  Joey  dear,"  she  said;  "  you're  crazy. 
I'm  not  married.  I'm  not  Helena.  I'm  Lulu." 

So  I  had  made  a  mistake. 

I  made  no  more. 

And  that  evening  I  played  pinochle  with  the 
old  man  Dyer,  and  the  three  Dyer  brothers, 
now  stronger  and  heavier,  loosened  two  of  my 
favorite  teeth. 


200  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER 

And  after  supper  I  washed  the  dishes,  and 
Lulu  sat  on  the  kitchen  table  and  laughed  and 
pretended  to  wipe  them. 

Thus  Joseph  Coogan,  Esq.,  finished  the  long 
and  rather  drawn  out  narrative  of  his  sad, 
sweet  life.  We  indulged  then  intermittently 
in  harmless  badinage,  without  ever  recurring 
to  the  romance  of  modern  business  accounting. 
That  is  what  rankles,  never  even  to  mention 
the  subject.  Suddenly  he  recollected  a  certain 
train,  which  he,  in  his  capacity  of  successful 
suburbanite,  was  obliged  to  catch.  So  we  parted 
with  many  mutual  promises  to  meet  again. 

This  story  should  end  here.  I  imagine  it 
does,  and  has  left  me  going  on  talking.  But  that 
evening,  when  the  stars  were  out,  when  I  had 
eaten  my  lonely  dinner  in  a  restaurant,  I  left 
the  lights  and  walked  long  pavement  miles  and 
thought  long  thoughts.  I  passed  down  spacious 
streets  lined  with  ornate  house-fronts,  and  down 
narrower  streets  where  the  houses  came  in  less 
imposing  rows.  And  always  as  I  walked,  I 
peered  strangely  at  the  windows.  Perhaps 
within  I  should  see  somewhere  a  red-headed 
girl  who  laughed  when  she  wiped  dishes. 

EDWARD  C.  PARK. 


THE  GRAN'SON  GREW 


THE   GRAN'SON   CREW 

XOW  BAY  is  a  snug  little  cove; 
its  circling  shore  of  yellow  sand  looks 
like  a  doughnut  with  one  bite  gone 
where  the  fishers'  boats  come  sailing 
in.  And  not  all  sandy  shore  either.  Opposite 
the  narrow  opening  there  is  a  cliff,  a  high  rocky 
crag  that  rises  sheer  from  the  bay  and  has  a 
crooked  tree  on  top.  Peg-Toe's  Oak  they  call 
the  tree.  It  can  be  seen  for  many  miles,  but 
especially  from  the  village  of  fishing  huts  out 
near  the  channel  to  the  sea. 

This  is  the  village  of  Bylow,  and  a  quaint 
little  unassuming  village  it  is,  built  all  of  rough 
logs  and  driftwood.  The  whole  village  stands 
awry  upon  the  greensward,  as  if  it  had  floated 
in  with  the  tide,  and  had  been  left  where  the 
wind  and  waves  tossed  it. 

In  the  village  of  Bylow  everything  is  on  a 
small  scale.  There  is  nothing  of  which  even  the 
poor  fishermen  need  be  proud,  excepting  the 
scarecrow,  who  dangles  lonely  from  the  small 

203 


204  THE  GRAN'SON  CREW 

end  of  a  broken  oar  far  back  in  the  cornfield. 
The  scarecrow  is  a  sight  to  wonder  at.  For 
being  dressed  in  the  fishers'  old  clothes,  all 
covered  with  bright  fish  scales,  he  glistens  from 
top  to  toe,  like  a  knight  in  armor,  when  the  sun 
shines. 

The  scarecrow  is  the  property  of  the  whole 
village  of  By  low ;  for  the  people  live  very  happily 
together,  away  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  like 
one  great  family,  and  all  that  they  have,  they 
have  in  common.  There  is  a  wide  pasture  that 
stretches  from  the  cornfield  to  the  shore,  where 
some  nibbling  sheep  and  a  group  of  sober  cows 
stand  like  copy  models  all  day  long,  as  if  to 
set  a  good  example  for  the  long-legged  calf 
that  will  not  keep  still.  Nearer  the  village 
there  is  an  old  ramshackle  barn  from  behind 
which  a  prolonged  squealing  and  grunting  gives 
warning  of  a  pig  pen,  and  down  on  the  beach 
there  is  a  row  of  small  fishing-boats  drawn  up 
among  the  drying  nets.  There  are  no  roads  in 
the  village,  but  foot-paths  run  criss-cross  from 
door  to  door.  Barefooted  men  and  women  in 
checkered  aprons  pass  occasionally  with  tubs 
on  their  heads  or  baskets  on  their  arms,  while 
little  children  play  among  the  pecking  hens 
and  parading  geese. 


THE  GRAN'SON  CREW  205 

To  this  quiet  little  village  in  the  summer  of 
19 —  came  Roving  Dick,  a  young  man  in  white 
flannel  trousers  and  a  red  sweater.  A  manly 
tanned  fellow  was  Roving  Dick,  with  curly 
brown  hair  and  blue  eyes  and  a  happy-go- 
lucky  laugh.  His  small  leg-of-mutton  sail- 
boat had  come  nosing  its  way  into  the  little  cove 
of  its  own  accord,  while  he  lay  dreaming  over 
an  old  romantic  tale  of  the  sea.  The  singular 
beauty  of  the  little  round  bay  delighted  him. 
He  landed  near  the  wide  pasture,  and  to  the 
great  amazement  of  the  foolish  calf,  that  fled 
in  alarm,  pitched  his  tent  upon  the  green. 

The  children  gathered  at  a  distance  to  watch 
him  toting  his  camp  utensils  up  from  the  boat. 
And  when  he  had  made  a  fire  of  driftwood  and 
had  hung  a  bright  kettle  over  it  to  boil,  the 
bolder  of  the  children  came  nearer.  But  they 
stood  very  still,  for  they  were  not  accustomed 
to  see  strangers  in  the  village  of  By  low,  and  when 
Roving  Dick  spoke  to  them,  they  all  turned 
their  heads  over  their  shoulders. 

However,  he  was  a  pleasant  young  fellow, 
and  sitting  down  on  a  stone,  to  watch  his 
kettle  boil,  he  told  them  stories  about  the  big 
world  outside  of  their  little  one,  about  fire- 
engines  and  electric  cars  and  steamboats. 


206  THE  GRAN'SON  CREW 

"  What  is  a  steamboat?  "  asked  one  of  the 
older  boys  at  length. 

And  the  young  man  laughed.  "  What,  you 
never  saw  a  steamboat?  Well,  you  should 
just  see  one!  A  great  big  boat  that  wags  a 
tail  like  a  fish  when  it  wants  to  sail." 

"I  guess  Peg-Toe  never  had  one  like  that," 
said  the  boy,  turning  to  his  companions.  And 
they  all  shook  their  heads. 

"  Who  is  Peg-Toe?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  Peg-Toe?  He's  the  one  who  planted  the 
tree,"  said  the  boy,  pointing  with  an  arm  to 
the  solitary  oak  high  up  on  the  cliff  over  the 
bay. 

"  Peg-Toe  did  that,  did  he?  " 

"  Him  and  his  crew  did,  so  as  they  could  find 
it  again." 

"  The  tree?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  the  gold  they 
buried  under  it." 

"Ho,  ho!"  cried  Dick.  "So  they  buried 
gold  there!  And  never  came  back  for  it?  " 

"  Not  yet,  they  didn't.  But  they're  a-com- 
in'.  They're  a-comin'  all  right,  and  then  won't 
there  be  a  time,  you  bet!  " 

There  was  something  in  the  boy's  manner  of 
telling  it  that  amused  the  young  man. 


THE  GRAN'SON  CREW  207 

"  Why  will  there  be  such  a  time?  "  he  asked. 

"  'Cause  the  gold  ain't  there  no  more," 
said  the  boy.  "  Black  Brows  has  come  and 
took  it  away  long  ago,  when  grandfather  was 
no  bigger  than  the  table." 

"  Brrr!  "  laughed  Dick.  "  What  pirates'  nest 
have  I  got  into  now?  " 

He  stood  for  a  while  shading  his  eyes,  crit- 
ically gazing  up  at  the  tree  on  the  cliff  across 
the  bay. 

"  Not  a  bad  place  for  a  tree,  that,"  he  said 
at  length.  "  And  so  this  band  of  buccaneers 
is  coming  back?  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  And  he  laughed 
as  if  it  were  the  funniest  thing  he  had  heard  in 
all  his  life. 

"  Not  Peg-Toe  self,"  said  the  boy  who 
had  spoken  before.  "  It  is  Peg-Toe's  Gran'son 
who  is  comin'  again,  Peg-Toe's  Gran'son  and 
a  gran'son  crew." 

At  this  the  young  man  laughed  more  than 
ever,  and  the  children  wondered. 

Roving  Dick  did  not  tarry  long  in  Bylow,  yet 
he  won  the  hearts  of  the  simple  fisher  folk.  He 
listened  eagerly  to  their  stumbling  accounts  of 
Peg-Toe  and  the  pirate  crew.  They  were  not 
apt  in  story-telling,  these  sturdy  brown  fisher- 
men; they  could  tell  little  more  than  the 


208  THE  GRAN'SON  CREW 

children.  Some  of  the  men  took  him  to  the 
top  of  the  cliff  and  showed  him  the  very  place 
where  the  gold  had  been  buried,  showed  him 
where  the  pirate  ship  had  anchored,  and  how 
the  buccaneers  had  climbed  the  hill  by  the 
grassy  slope  on  the  southern  shore.  All  this 
delighted  Roving  Dick.  He  drew  pictures  and 
wrote  notes  in  his  journal,  that  he  might  tell 
his  friends  at  home  about  it.  Then  after 
four  or  five  days  he  rolled  up  his  tent,  waved  his 
hand  to  the  fishermen  on  the  beach,  and  hoist- 
ing his  little  leg-of-mutton  sail,  rode  swiftly 
out  on  the  ebbing  tide  through  the  narrow 

channel  to  the  sea. 

****** 

It  was  drawing  toward  the  end  of  the  summer 
and  the  corn  had  grown  to  such  a  height  that 
the  strange  scare-crow  could  hardly  be  seen, 
when  the  good  people  of  Bylow  discovered  one 
day  that  Roving  Dick  had  returned.  There 
was  the  tent  on  the  edge  of  the  pasture,  and  there 
was  Dick,  the  same  Dick,  in  the  same  red  sweater 
and  white  flannel  trousers.  The  children  came 
running  to  his  tent,  and  every  day  the  people 
sent  him  presents  of  good  things  to  eat,  for  they 
were  glad  to  see  him  again.  Even  the  long- 
legged  calf,  which  had  become  more  sensible 


THE  GRAN'SON  CREW  209 

during  the  summer,  seemed  anxious  to  be 
friendly  and  came  to  browse  close  by. 

"  Well/'  said  Dick  to  the  children  on  the 
first  day  of  his  return,  "  hasn't  Peg-Toe  come 
yet?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  they  answered,  "  but  he's  a'-com- 
in',  you  bet!  " 

And  Dick  laughed  his  merry  laugh  and  told 
them  more  stories  of  the  wide  world.  But  for 
all  his  laughing  the  pirates  came. 

It  was  not  many  days  after  Dick  had  returned: 
a  sunny  blue  morning  of  September,  with  the 
brisk  air  curling  the  smoke  from  the  chimney 
tops,  and  a  small  white  rag  of  a  cloud  scudding 
over  the  bay. 

"  Peg-Toe,"  whispered  some  one  in  the  vil- 
lage, "  Peg-Toe  has  come!  " 

And  immediately  there  was  great  excitement. 
Frantic  geese,  wild  chicks,  frightened  children, 
and  anxious  mothers  were  running  about  every- 
where. But  only  for  a  moment  till  the  little 
ones  were  hidden  away  in  the  houses.  Then  all 
became  suddenly  very  still.  The  women  stood 
at  the  doors  shading  their  eyes.  The  men, 
collected  in  small  groups  on  the  beach,  were 
pointing  out  over  the  bay. 

And  there  was  a  marvelous  sight!     A  ship 


210  THE  GRAN'SON  CREW 

had  just  come  through  the  narrow  strait  under 
full  sail.  And  what  a  ship !  Short  and  high  and 
black  as  tar,  all  bristling  with  cannon.  The 
sails  were  square-rigged  and  bellying  in  the  wind, 
and  there  was  a  black  flag  at  the  masthead. 
Now  the  ship  was  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
shore,  tilted  in  such  a  way  that  the  whole  deck 
could  be  seen  from  stem  to  stern.  And  it  was 
a  fierce  cutlass- girdled  crew  that  stood  there. 

But  the  ship  did  not  stop.  It  sailed  to  the 
opposite  shore,  close  down  to  the  foot  of  the 
cliff,  where  the  anchor  was  let  go  and  the  crew 
could  be  seen — hurrying  little  black  figures 
up  in  the  rigging,  furling  the  sails. 

After  a  while  small  boats  were  seen  to  leave 
the  further  side.  They  were  loaded  with  pirates, 
who  landed  on  the  shore  near  the  foot  of  the 
cliff.  Only  a  few  began  to  climb  immediately; 
these  could  be  seen  starting  up  through  the 
shrubbery  of  the  southern  slope.  The  rest 
remained  in  a  crowd  near  the  boats.  There 
appeared  to  be  some  dispute.  A  number  of 
them  were  tugging  at  what  looked  like  three  or 
four  small  chests.  Apparently  some  wished 
to  carry  them  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  others 
wanted  them  left  behind.  This  was  the  cause 
of  the  trouble,  as  nearly  as  the  watching  fisher- 


THE  GRAN'SON  CREW  211 

men  could  discern;  but  they  were  too  far  away 
to  distinguish  the  leaders  from  the  rest ;  and  what 
finally  became  of  the  chests  they  could  not  tell. 

"Poor  discipline!"  muttered  one  of  the 
fishermen. 

"  Aye,"  said  another.  "  'Tain't  Peg-Toe  self. 
There'd  be  no  dallyin'  with  Peg-Toe  self.  It's 
Peg-Toe's  Gran'son  with  a  gran'son  crew." 

Several  small  boats  had  passed  between  the 
shore  and  the  vessel  before  the  trouble  seemed 
to  be  settled.  Then  up  started  the  pirates, 
leaving  only  a  few  behind  on  the  beach. 

"  God  help  us  when  they  reach  the  top  and 
find  there  ain't  no  gold!  "  said  one  of  the 
fishers.  "  They'll  be  a-sayin'  we  took  it,  and 
they'll  be  a-comin'  here." 

Suddenly  another  of  the  fishermen  cried  out, 
"  Look,  there's  a  fight!  " 

Half-way  up  the  slope  the  pirates  had  stopped. 
Some  of  them  appeared  to  be  struggling.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  old  dispute  about  the  chests. 
Men  could  be  seen  hurling  themselves  upon  one 
another  with  cutlasses  and  pistol-shots.  Soon 
there  was  nothing  but  a  white  cloud  of  smoke 
showing  on  the  hill-side.  And  when  this  blew 
away,  the  men  were  moving  on  again  under  one 
who  flourished  a  sword  and  seemed  the  leader. 


212  THE  GRAN'SON  CREW 

At  length  they  reached  the  top  of  the  cliff. 
They  could  be  seen  moving  about  near  the 
tree,  and  occasionally  there  were  shots,  so  that 
a  white  cloud  appeared  up  there  in  the  blue 
sky.  But  just  what  they  did,  none  of  the 
fishermen  could  tell. 

Meanwhile  Roving  Dick  had  been  awakened 
by  the  first  shots  on  the  hillside.  He  appeared, 
tousled  and  sleepy,  rubbing  his  eyes  at  the 
opening  of  his  tent.  Then,  espying  the  strange 
ship  across  the  bay,  he  hurried  down  to  the 
fishermen  on  the  beach. 

He  was  flushed  and  excited.  "Is  it  Peg- 
Toe?  "  he  cried,  elbowing  his  way  forward. 

"Gran'son!"  answered  the  fishers  stolidly. 
!<  Gran'son  and  gran'son  crew!  " 

"  And  the  gold  is  gone?  Ho,  ho,  ho!  "  And 
the  young  man  burst  into  uncontrolled  laughter, 
stamping  the  sand  in  his  mad  glee. 

But  the  fishers  had  become  used  to  these 
strange  laughing-fits,  and  paid  no  attention  to 
him.  After  a  few  moments  one  of  the  men 
added : 

'  They're  up  there  now.  They'll  be  comin' 
here  when  they  see  it's  gone." 

"  Will  they?  "  said  the  young  man,  but  he 
did  not  cease  from  laughing. 


THE  GRAN'SON  CREW  213 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  later  when  they 
noticed  him  again.  His  tent  was  gone.  Dick 
was  in  his  boat  a  few  feet  from  the  shore,  where 
he  was  trying  to  shake  loose  his  little  leg-of- 
mutton  sail. 

The  fishers  rushed  anxiously  along  the  shore 
towards  him. 

"  Don't  leave  us,  don't  leave  us  now!  "  they 
cried. 

But  the  young  man  had  hoisted  his  sail; 
and  the  little  boat  moved  swiftly  away  from  the 
shore. 

"  Trust  to  Dick,  trust  to  Roving  Dick!  " 
cried  the  young  man,  laughing  softly  in  his 
peculiar  way.  And  then  he  steered  for  the  high 
cliff  where  the  pirates  had  landed. 

The  fishers  watched  him  in  silence.  It  was 
now  past  midday;  the  sun  was  high  in  the 
heavens  and  shone  with  blinding  brilliancy 
straight  in  their  faces.  They  lost  sight  of  him 
when  he  reached  the  shore.  Later  they  made 
out  three  men  climbing  up  the  slope  to  the 
top  of  the  cliff.  And  somehow  they  felt  that 
Bylow  was  safe. 

At  evening  the  strange  ship  with  the  pirate 
crew  sailed  out  of  the  little  bay.  Up  on  the 
cliff  where  the  sky  was  all  red  with  the  setting 


214  THE  GRAN'SON  CREW 

sun,  a  black  something  could  be  seen  hanging 
from  a  branch  of  Peg-Toe's  oak. 

"  Poor  Dick,"  said  the  fishermen. 

But  the  next  morning  when  they  had  climbed 
up  there,  what  was  their  surprise  to  find  that 
the  black  something  hanging  from  the  tree  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  their  own  scare- 
crow. They  had  not  seen  how  Roving  Dick 
had  smuggled  it  out  of  the  cornfield,  and  rolled 
it  up  in  his  tent.  And  how  could  they  know  that 
the  pirates  were  not  real  pirates,  but  only 
moving-picture  actors  dressed  up  as  buccan- 
eers! Roving  Dick  had  not  told  them  that  he 
had  written  a  scenario  the  first  time  he  was 
there  and  heard  the  legend  of  Peg-Toe  and  the 
pirates.  What  could  the  poor  fishermen  under- 
stand of  films  and  biographs?  They  could  not 
even  see  that  the  black  chests  which  had  been 
carried  up  the  hill  were  only  cameras.  And  so 
the  good  people  of  Bylow  still  believe  that  it 
was  Peg-Toe's  Gran'son  with  a  gran'son  crew. 

CHARLES  C.  PETERSEN. 


OUR  SPHINX 


OUR   SPHINX 

WAS  the  first  of  February,  and 
as  was  my  wont  at  such  times  I 
stopped  a  moment  in  the  hall  to  see 
if  my  tradesmen  were  still  constant 
in  their  attentions.  As  I  sorted  the  mail 
I  came  upon  three  postcards  addressed  to 
Jethro  Pike,  known  variously  among  us  fellows 
as  "  Jerry"  and  "The  Sphinx."  I  turned 
them  over  idly  and  found  them,  as  I  expected, 
notifications  of  the  marks  he  had  received  in 
some  of  his  mid-year  examinations.  Of  course 
it  was  none  of  my  business  what  Pike  got  for 
marks,  but  in  college  we  all  had  a  more  or  less 
worried  interest  in  the  grades  given  out,  and 
our  code  of  ethics  was  sufficiently  broad  to 
allow  the  perusal  of  other  men's  examination 
cards.  To  my  surprise  I  found  that  Pike 
had  received  A's  (excellent)  in  two  advanced 
mathematical  courses  and  a  C  (signifying  just 
passing  and  termed  colloquially  a  gentleman's 
mark)  in  a  notoriously  "  cinch "  course  in 
Economics. 

217 


218  OUR  SPHINX 

"  Here's  an  interesting  combination/'  I  re- 
marked to  Bill  Wheeler,  who  had  just  strolled 
in  after  his  weekly  conference  with  the  Dean. 
"  Our  friend  Pike  must  possess  a  brilliant  mind, 
but  he's  about  as  practical  as  the  Wraith  of 
Dundee.  Here  he  goes  and  drags  an  A  from 
old  Dr.  Forster  while  roaming  about  in  space 
on  the  back  of  a  Calculus  formula,  and  yet  just 
succeeds  in  l  getting  by '  Johnston's  graft 
course.  That  boy  ought  to  have  his  brain 
balanced." 

"  Oh,  that's  the  fellow  who  sings  all  night," 
replied  Wheeler.  "  He's  likely  to  do  anything. 
Why,  just  the  other  night  he  kept  me  awake 
till  three,  singing,  'You  Made  Me  What  I  Am 
To-Day  '  in  the  most  doleful  voice  imaginable." 

"  Well,  if  he  did  that,"  I  said  rather  unsym- 
pathetically,  fitting  my  key  in  the  lock,  "  there 
are  good  traits  in  Pike  which  I  have  never  sus- 
pected. I  must  investigate  him." 

For  five  or  six  months  "  The  Sphinx  "  and 
I  had  passed  each  other  in  the  halls  and  in  the 
Yard  with  but  a  casual  word  of  greeting.  He 
was  a  flaxen-haired,  mild-looking  chap,  and  to 
my  knowledge  did  not  possess  a  single  intimate 
friend  in  the  whole  University. 

That  evening  I  called  on  him,  using  as  a 


OUR  SPHINX  219 

pretext  my  inability  to  solve  a  mathematical 
difficulty  which  I  had  run  across  in  one  of  my 
courses.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  had  encountered 
the  difficulty  by  purposely  looking  for  it  in 
an  old  algebra  I  possessed.  The  problem  was 
a  simple  one,  which  I  could  have  solved  myself 
without  trouble,  although  I  had  not  studied 
mathematics  since  my  school-days. 

"  Hello,  Pike,"  I  said,  as  I  stood  in  his  door- 
way. "  I  understand  you  are  a  'math  shark/ 
so  I've  come  in  to  get  your  assistance  in  a  little 
difficulty.  Can  you  spare  me  a  minute  or 
two?  " 

"  Come  in,"  was  the  answer.  At  the  sound 
of  his  voice  I  started.  His  speech,  ordinarily 
well  modulated,  was  thick  and  unsteady. 

"  Anything  wrong?  Feeling  badly?  "  I  asked 
hesitatingly. 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  all  right,"  he  replied  abruptly. 
"  Let's  see  your  problem." 

Somewhat  piqued,  I  did  not  volunteer  further 
conversation  but  wandered  about  the  room, 
idly  examining  the  various  knick-knacks  which 
adorned  the  shelves  and  the  walls.  Finally 
I  sat  back  in  his  Morris  chair  while  waiting  for 
Pike  to  finish  his  work.  From  where  I  sat,  I 
could  see  into  the  bedroom  which  was  faintly 


220  OUR  SPHINX 

illuminated  by  the  electric  lamps  in  the  study. 
Against  the  farther  wall,  on  what  I  took  to 
be  the  dresser,  glimmered  a  myriad  of  bright 
points  of  light.  As  my  eyes  became  adjusted 
to  the  distance,  I  discerned  that  they  were  the 
reflections  from  the  study  lamps  on  cut-glass 
and  plain  bottles  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  so 
numerous  as  to  cover  the  whole  surface  of  the 
dresser.  My  speculations  concerning  their  con- 
tents were  interrupted  by  Pike's  querulously 
declaring  that  he  was  unable  to  make  head  or 
tail  of  my  equations. 

"  Well,  well!  "  I  exclaimed,  slightly  mystified. 
"  Didn't  you  get  an  A  in  Dr.  Forster's  course 
on  Probabilities?  " 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Pike  with  a  wry  smile, 
'  but  this  evening  I'm  not  in  very  good  shape, 
I  guess,  old  chap.  Come  round  some  other 
time,  will  you?  " 

His  hand  shook  as  he  handed  back  my  paper, 
and  I  asked  with  genuine  sympathy  if  I  could 
do  anything  for  him.  I  now  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  deep-set,  and  burning  with  a  flame  I  did 
not  like. 

"  No,  no,"  was  the  impatient  rejoinder. 
"I'm  tired  out  but  I  shall  be  all  right  to-mor- 
row. Good  night." 


OUR  SPHINX  221 

I  returned  to  my  room,  two  flights  down, 'and 
started  working.  Half  an  hour  later  I  was 
hailed  from  above-stairs,  and  going  to  the  door 
I  saw  Pike  leaning  over  the  railing.  He  was 
red-cheeked,  bright  of  eye,  seemingly  entirely 
rejuvenated. 

"  Oh,  Andrews,"  he  called.  "  Bring  that 
Chinese  puzzle  of  yours  up  here  now,  will  you? 
I'm  feeling  better  and  guess  I  can  handle  it." 

I  ascended  the  stairs  three  at  a  time  and 
entered  Pike's  room. 

"  Have  a  chair,"  he  said  genially,  at  the  same 
time  pushing  me  good-naturedly  into  a  soft 
lounging  chair.  "  There  are  cigars  in  the  humi- 
dor, and  if  you  drink,  here's  the  key  to  my 
cellar.  I'll  be  through  here  in  a  jiffy." 

What  a  marvelous  store  of  reserve  energy 
the  fellow  must  have,  I  thought,  as  I  selected 
a  fragrant  Havana.  Half  an  hour  ago  he  was 
on  the  rocks  and  now  he's  chipper  as  a  squirrel. 
I  realised  also  for  the  first  time  that  Pike  was 
really  quite  a  likable  chap  if  one  could  only  get 
to  know  him  well  enough.  Besides,  his  taste 
in  rye  was  commendable  in  the  extreme.  In  a 
few  minutes  my  problem  was  solved  and  Pike 
and  I  sat  for  an  hour  or  more  chatting  over 
college  affairs. 


222  OUR  SPHINX 

During  the  next  two  weeks  I  was  unusually 
busy  and  did  not  even  see  Pike  except  at  a  dis- 
tance. On  a  Friday  evening  I  was  dressing  for 
a  Boston  dance  when  Wheeler  happened  in. 

"  Hello,  Andrews/'  was  his  careless  greeting. 
'  That  tawny -haired  Swede  of  yours  is  in 
another  of  his  musical  moods.  He's  tearing 
the  strings  off  a  mandolin  now  and  howling  his 
old  favorite,  '  You  Made  Me  What  I  Am  To- 
Day.'  It's  too  much  for  me.  I'm  going  down 
to  visit  an  undertaker  I  know.  Doctor  says  I 
must  keep  cheerful." 

I  opened  the  door  and  strode  into  the  hall. 
True  enough,  the  most  melancholy  music  I  had 
ever  listened  to  was  being  profusely  poured 
forth  by  the  strange  "  Sphinx  "  of  Thayer  Hall. 
I  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  to 
listen  to  the  lugubrious  serenade,  so  I  hurriedly 
finished  dressing  and  left  for  the  ball. 

The  tired  and  hungry  orchestra  did  not  put 
aside  their  instruments  until  three  the  next 
morning — several  hours  after  the  Cambridge 
Subway  had  locked  its  doors,  put  out  its  lights, 
and  gone  to  bed. 

"  Hey,  Cabby,"  I  called  to  the  sleepy  admiral 
of  a  sea-going  hack.  "  Come  to  long  enough 
to  take  me  aboard.  Drop  me  somewhere  in 


OUR  SPHINX  223 

Harvard  Yard  any  time  between  now  and  my 
nine  o'clock  class/' 

For  some  reason  or  other  which  I  was  too 
weary  to  inquire  into,  the  driver  elected  to 
reach  Cambridge  by  one  of  the  lower  bridges. 
Half  way  over  the  river  I  noticed  the  figure  of  a 
man  lurching  drunkenly  along.  Something 
about  the  figure  struck  me  as  familiar — the 
way  the  shoulders  were  carried,  and  the  slight 
stoop.  As  we  came  abreast  of  the  object  of 
my  speculation,  he  tacked  the  wrong  way  and 
struck  a  lamp  post  with  some  force.  His  hat 
rolled  off,  and  as  he  stooped  to  fumble  for  it, 
the  light  from  the  arc  lamp  above  gleamed  on 
his  bared  head. 

"  There's  only  one  head  of  hair  like  that  this 
side  of  Sweden,"  I  yelled  to  the  mystified  cab- 
man. "  Hold  up  a  bit  while  I  give  a  friend  a 
lift." 

I  jumped  from  the  cab  and  ran  to  the  side  of 
Pike,  for  it  was  he,  and  half  dragged,  half 
pushed  his  limp  form  through  the  door. 

Only  once  on  the  trip  to  Cambridge  did  he 
open  his  mouth  and  then  he  uttered  an  appar- 
ently nonsensical  observation  which  later  proved 
pitifully  prophetic. 

"  Andrews,"  he  said  huskily — he  had  recog- 


224  OUR  SPHINX 

nised  me  despite  his  befuddled  condition — "  I'm 
a  clever  fellow — too  damned  clever,  and — " 
here  his  voice  sank  so  low  I  could  barely  make 
out  the  words,  "  and  then  when  I  thought  I 
had  the  world  in  my  grasp,  the  hand  of  God 
steps  in." 

"  Aside  from  a  little  confusion  in  your  figures 
of  speech,"  I  replied  flippantly,  "  about  the 
only  correction  to  be  made  in  your  observations 
is  to  allow  the  hand  of  God  to  leap  in.  It  isn't 
stepping  much  these  days." 

Then  we  both  lapsed  into  a  silence  which 
lasted  until  the  cab  drew  up  before  our  dormi- 
tory in  the  Yard.  Pike  was  in  better  shape 
by  this  time  and  got  out  without  assistance. 
I  started  to  help  him  up  the  stairs  but  he  pushed 
me  back  savagely. 

"  Let  me  alone,"  he  growled.  "  I've  seen 
enough  of  you." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  allowed  him  to 
make  his  way  by  himself.  Too  often  I  had  had 
to  put  morose  tipplers  to  bed,  and  the  task  was 
not  one  I  craved.  I  entered  my  room  and  began 
to  undress.  Scarcely  had  I  removed  my  waist- 
coat when  I  heard  a  confused  scuffling  above 
me  and  a  hoarse  shout  or  two.  I  stood  tense, 
every  nerve  alert,  waiting  for  a  repetition  of  the 


OUR  SPHINX  225 

sounds.  In  a  moment  I  heard  a  door  slam  and 
the  padding  of  a  man  running  swiftly  down- 
stairs in  his  bare  feet.  My  door  was  flung  open 
and  in  rushed  Wheeler,  his  face  ashen  and  his 
eyes  wide  with  a  terror  he  did  not  try  to  conceal. 

"  Andrews/'  he  gasped,  as  he  closed  and 
locked  my  door  behind  him.  "  There's  a 
crazy  man,  or  a  vampire,  or — or  something 
terrible  in  my  room.  He  tried  to  choke  me  to 
death.  He's  seven  feet  tall.  For  God's  sake 
don't  let  him  come  in  here." 

The  poor  fellow  was  beside  himself.  I  endeav- 
ored to  calm  him,  at  the  same  time  trying  to 
get  at  what  had  happened.  The  facts  as  I 
elicited  them  one  by  one  were  as  follows:— 

Wheeler  had  been  asleep  in  his  room  when  he 
was  awakened  by  hearing  a  chair  overturned. 

"  Who's  there?  "  he  had  called  sleepily, 
rising  on  his  elbow. 

At  the  sound  of  Wheeler's  voice  the  intruder 
had  hurled  himself  upon  him  snarling  and  curs- 
ing, and  had  it  not  been  that  the  stranger 
seemed  dazed,  Wheeler  would  soon  have  been 
a  candidate  for  a  graveyard.  As  it  was,  Bill 
had  wriggled  free  and  escaped,  dashing  into 
my  room  when  he  saw  the  light  shining  over 
the  transom. 


226  OUR  SPHINX 

Wheeler  finally  consented  to  stay  where  he 
was  while  I  went  to  reconnoitre.  The  affair 
was  serious,  but  I  could  not  help  chuckling  at 
the  thought  of  poor  drunken  Pike  falling  into 
what  he  took  for  his  own  bed  and  finding  it 
occupied.  Pike's  room  was  directly  above 
Wheeler's  and  the  mistake  was  an  easy  one  for 
a  man  in  Pike's  condition  to  make. 

When  I  reached  the  scene  of  the  conflict  I 
struck  a  match.  On  Wheeler's  bed  lay  the 
disheveled  figure  of  Pike,  as  I  expected.  I 
shook  him  by  the  shoulder  and  finally  succeeded 
in  making  him  realise  that  he  was  in  the  wrong 
quarters.  This  time  I  assisted  him  upstairs. 

"  Able  to  get  to  bed  all  right?  "  I  asked,  as 
Pike  sank  limply  into  a  chair.  "  If  not,  you 
had  better  let  me  help  you." 

I  was  leaning  against  his  desk,  and  as  I  spoke 
I  idly  picked  up  a  manuscript  which  was  lying 
there,  thinking  it  a  thesis  in  the  process  of  prep- 
aration. Quite  absent-mindedly  I  had  glanced 
over  the  first  page  with  no  idea  as  to  what  the 
contents  might  be,  when  the  manuscript  was 
snatched  from  my  fingers  and  I  received  a 
stinging  blow  in  the  face.  I  looked  up  and  saw 
Pike  standing  before  me,  his  features  tense  and 
drawn,  his  eyes  glaring  at  me  with  a  demoniacal 


OUR  SPHINX  227 

expression.  The  papers  were  in  his  nerveless 
hands  which  were  clenching  and  unclenching 
convulsively. 

"  You  will  try  to  steal  my  secret,  you  damned 
hound,"  he  gasped.  "  I  knew  that's  what  you 
were  after  when  you  came  sneaking  round  my 
room  the  other  night.  But  I'll  fool  you,  I'll 
fool — "  his  voice  trailed  off  into  incoherency, 
but  still  he  stood  between  me  and  the  door, 
barring  my  escape. 

I  took  out  my  handkerchief  and  wiped  away 
the  blood  which  was  trickling  into  my  eyes. 

"  You've  made  an  awful  ass  of  yourself, 
Pike,"  I  told  him  curtly.  "  A  man  can  be  a 
gentleman  whether  he's  drunk  or  sober.  Now 
you'll  get  to  bed  as  best  you  can." 

Angrily  I  started  to  leave  the  room,  pushing 
him  aside  easily.  Just  before  closing  the  door 
I  glanced  backward,  and  the  sight  which  met 
my  gaze  is  one  which  will  live  long  in  my 
memory.  Pike  was  standing  in  the  shower  of 
light  beneath  the  chandelier.  At  his  feet  lay 
scattered  the  leaves  of  his  precious  manuscript 
which  was  by  now  completely  forgotten.  His 
right  arm  was  bared  to  the  elbow  and  gory  from 
three  of  four  nasty  wounds.  As  I  looked,  he 
bit  savagely  into  a  fresh  spot  on  his  arm,  whim- 


228  OUR  SPHINX 

paring  and  whining  like  an  animal  in  pain. 
Blood  was  dripping  on  the  scattered  sheets  of 
paper  on  the  floor. 

"  Pike,  for  God's  sake,  man,  what  are  you 
doing?  "  I  cried,  rushing  back  and  shaking  him 
furiously  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Don't  you  see  them? "  he  muttered. 
11  There  they  are  now,  and  they're  digging, 
digging,  digging."  His  voice  gradually  rose 
until  I  feared  the  whole  dormitory  would  be 
awakened. 

"See  them!  There  they  are  again,"  he 
groaned,  his  voice  filled  with  agony.  "  I've 
tried  and  I've  tried  to  get  them  out  but  I 
can't.  Oh,  oh,  oh!" 

Eventually  I  quieted  him  and  got  him  into 
bed.  Then  I  returned  on  tiptoe  to  Wheeler's 
room  where  I  straightened  chairs  and  put  the 
room  in  as  presentable  a  shape  as  I  could. 

"  It's  tough  on  Wheeler,"  I  chuckled  grimly, 
"  but  what  must  be,  must.  Bill  will  think  he's 
having  the  D.  T.'s  but  it  can't  be  helped.  We 
can't  allow  old  Pike  to  get  in  wrong  just  because 
of  a  fighting  jag.  Great  Scott!  how  tight  that 
fellow  is!" 

Wheeler  was  still  trembling  when  I  returned 
to  him  in  my  study.  He  wouldn't  let  me  in 


OUR  SPHINX  229 

until  I  had  proved  that  I  was  not  the  vampire 
that  had  descended  on  him.  When  finally  I 
did  get  inside,  I  looked  him  reproachfully  in  the 
eye  and  asked  what  he  meant  by  trying  to 
frighten  me  with  his  dream. 

"  Why,  there  isn't  a  trace  of  a  struggle  in 
your  room,"  I  declared  with  an  affectation  of 
anger.  "  Besides,  I  have  searched  through 
every  room  in  the  hall  and  there  isn't  a  stranger 
in  any  of  them.  Get  along  out  of  here,  and  if 
you  have  any  more  troubles,  for  heaven's  sake 
tell  them  to  the  Sweeneys  or  the  police,  but 
don't  come  bothering  me." 

Wheeler  was  by  this  time  somewhat  ashamed 
of  his  display  of  timidity.  He  left  the  room  with 
an  outward  show  of  bravery  but  with  his  heart 
quaking,  I  feel  sure.  Then  I  got  out  a  big,  fat 
cigar  and  sat  down  to  think  the  matter  over. 

Pike  is  awfully  drunk,  or  crazy,  or  more 
probably  still,  a  mixture  of  the  two,  I  thought. 
If  he  is  drunk,  then  he  is  the  most  peculiar 
drunk  I  have  ever  seen;  and  if  he  is  crazy,  why 
should  he  stagger  round  like  a  South  Sea 
Islander  after  a  shipwreck? 

Then  one  by  one  there  came  into  my  mind  a 
number  of  peculiar  incidents  connected  with 
Pike.  I  recalled  that  night  when  he  had  been 


230  OUR  SPHINX 

so  patently  indisposed,  and  his  subsequent 
rapid  return  to  normal  condition.  I  thought 
of  the  bottles  on  his  dressing  bureau,  and  the 
mystery  as  to  what  they  contained.  For  the 
first  time  I  realised  a  fact,  too,  which  had  been 
staring  me  in  the  face  ever  since  I  had  dragged 
Pike  into  the  cab,  but  which,  because  it  was  so 
apparent,  had  not  yet  caught  my  attention. 
This  was  that  all  the  time  I  had  been  with  Pike, 
I  had  not  noticed  the  least  odor  of  drink.  Be- 
sides, it  was  a  very  peculiar  mix-up  he  had 
with  Wheeler.  But  then  that  could  be 
accounted  for  as  one  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  an 
intoxicated  man.  What  I  could  not  understand 
was  why  he  should  bite  his  arm  as  he  did.  Then 
somewhere  in  the  back  of  my  mind  was  evolved 
the  recollection  that  "  dope-fiends  "  had  been 
known  to  mutilate  themselves  in  this  manner 
while  suffering  under  the  hallucination  that 
worms  were  crawling  about  under  the  surface 
of  their  skin. 

"  The  very  thing/'  I  exclaimed.  "  I  knew 
something  out  of  the  ordinary  was  wrong  with 
the  fellow,  but  I  had  not  thought  of  this.  To 
make  sure,  I  must  do  a  little  detective  work." 

Once  again  I  ascended  to  Pike's  room  and 
tried  the  knob  of  his  door.  The  latch  was 


OUR  SPHINX  231 

not  caught,  so  the  door  swung  back  silently. 
The  moon  had  now  dropped  almost  below  the 
horizon,  but  still  it  furnished  enough  light  to 
throw  a  wan  glow  over  the  room.  By  this 
faint  light  the  manuscript  was  visible  lying 
scattered  on  the  floor,  its  formerly  immaculate 
sheets  spattered  with  dark  blotches.  Curi- 
ously I  picked  it  up  to  determine  once  for  all 
if  Pike's  secrecy  concerning  it  had  been  based 
on  anything,  or  whether  it  was  merely  caused 
by  a  temporarily  unhinged  mind.  On  tiptoe 
I  walked  with  it  to  the  window  and  was  just 
able  to  make  out  the  closely-written  scrawl. 

"  The  fourth  dimension  is  susceptible  of 
proof  by  either  one  of  two  methods/'  it  read. 
"  The  first  of  these  is  so  simple  as  to  be  within 
the  comprehension  of  the  educated  laymen, 
and  the  second,  dealing  as  it  does  with  mathe- 
matical formulae  of  a  very  complicated  nature, 
has  an  appeal  only  for  mathematicians.  I  shall 
attempt  to  prove  the  fourth  dimension  an 
entirely  logical  conception,  and  later  I  shall 
prove  its  existence  mathematically." 

I  read  no  further.  Pike's  attack  on  me  might 
have  been  justified  by  a  natural  desire  to  pre- 
serve a  discovery  the  elusiveness  of  which  has 
foiled  the  world's  greatest  thinkers;  or  it  may 


232  OUR  SPHINX 

have  been  instigated  by  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  an  abnormal  mentality.  Whatever  the 
cause  might  be,  I  put  the  papers  once  again  on 
the  desk  to  keep  the  maid  from  sweeping  them 
out  the  next  morning.  Then  I  entered  the  bed- 
room where  Pike  was  breathing  stertorously. 
He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  sleep  when  my  shadow 
darkened  his  face. 

My  suspicions  were  verified.  Not  even  the 
faintest  odor  of  drink  hung  about  him.  Gently 
I  lifted  the  sleeve  of  his  uninjured  arm  to  pass 
my  hand  lightly  over  the  skin.  Quite  unmis- 
takably I  felt  a  number  of  small  lumps  caused 
by  the  injection  of  morphine  through  an 
hypodermic  needle. 

Leaving  the  bed,  I  tiptoed  to  the  bureau  where 
I  examined  the  bottles  which  littered  its  sur- 
face. One  of  them  was  labelled  "  Coleman's 
Hair  Tonic."  Its  contents  were  not  a  liquid, 
as  the  label  would  indicate,  but  a  finely  powdered 
substance  similar  to  snuff.  I  spilled  some  out 
on  a  sheet  of  paper  and  put  it  in  my  pocket  for 
future  reference.  Then  I  stole  from  the  bed- 
room, sprung  the  latch  on  the  study  door,  and 
returned  to  my  quarters. 

Spring   in   the    college   world  always   seems 


OUR  SPHINX  233 

the  saddest  of  the  four  seasons.  It  seems 
particularly  sad  to  those  members  of  the  col- 
lege community  who  have  completed  the  four 
years  required  for  a  degree  and  are  soon  to 
change  their  habitat  for  places  where  life  is 
more  strenuous  and  less  comfortable  than  in 
stolid  old  Cambridge.  Even  when  the  days  are 
particularly  bright  and  when  Nature  does  all 
she  can  to  make  man  satisfied  with  his  lot, 
the  feeling  is  always  hovering  somewhere  in 
the  background  that  the  happiest,  most  whole- 
some days  of  a  man's  life  are  soon  to  end. 

Several  weeks  after  my  nerve-racking  experi- 
ences with  Pike,  a  number  of  seniors  were  in  my 
room  chatting  about  the  approaching  festivities. 
Eleven  o'clock  had  just  sounded  from  Memorial 
and  the  Yard,  fresh  and  green  in  the  May  sun- 
shine, was  alive  with  students  hurrying  to  and 
from  classes.  Shortly  there  came  a  knock  on 
the  door,  and  when  I  answered  I  found  Pike 
standing  outside  with  several  books  in  his  hand. 

;'  If  you  haven't  anything  to  do,  Andrews," 
he  said  hurriedly,  "  would  you  mind  coming  up 
to  my  room  for  a  few  minutes?  It's  very 
important." 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  replied.  "  I'll  be  right 
up." 


234  OUR  SPHINX 

When  I  opened  his  door  five  minutes  later 
he  was  busy  at  his  desk. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  nodding  to  a  chair. 
"  I  shall  be  finished  here  in  a  moment." 

I  took  the  chair  I  had  occupied  that  night 
when  first  I  had  realised  what  a  likable  chap 
Pike  could  be.     While  he  was  completing  the 
work  on  which  he  was  engaged,  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity to  examine  him  closely.     His  cheeks  were 
like  old  parchment  and  had  fallen  in  so  that  he 
looked  years  older  than  he  was.     His  jaw  and 
chin  were  incongruously  firm — so  firm  that  I 
wondered  how  an  habitual  "  dope-taker  "  could 
preserve  such  evidences  of  character. 

"  How  much  does  Wheeler  know?  "  he  asked 
abruptly,  setting  aside  his  pen.  I  knew  per- 
fectly well  what  he  meant,  though  this  was  the 
first  time  since  that  memorable  night  that  he 
had  ever  referred  to  it. 

II  Not  a  thing,"   I   replied.     "  I   made  him 
think  he  was  having  a  nightmare,  and  he  was 
so  ashamed  that  he  hasn't  mentioned  the  affair 
to  a  soul." 

"  That's  good.  I  can't  tell  you,  Andrews, 
how  much  I  appreciate  your  kindness  to  me. 
You  know,  of  course,  what  made  me  act  as  I 
did." 


OUR  SPHINX  235 

"  Naturally,"  I  said,  remembering  the  bump 
he  had  raised  on  my  forehead.  "  I  had  a 
sample  of  your  '  Coleman's  Hair  Tonic ' 
examined  by  a  doctor  who  said  it  was  heroin. 
Why  in  the  name  of  common  sense  do  you  do 
it,  Pike?  You  are  not  a  weakling.  You  have 
brains  and  will-power.  Why  don't  you  let 
the  stuff  alone  before  it  gets  a  death-grip  on 
you?  " 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  you  the 
whole  story/'  he  said,  speaking  slowly  and 
deliberately.  "  You  are  the  only  one  in  the 
world  who  will  know,  and  I'm  sure  I  can  trust 
you." 

I  nodded  without  replying. 

"  I  first  became  acquainted  with  dope  four 
years  ago  at  the  end  of  my  last  year  in  school. 
I  remember  I  was  ill  at  the  time  and  a  little 
country  doctor  gave  me  some  morphine  to 
deaden  the  pain.  While  still  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  drug  I  tried  to  work.  I  was  aston- 
ished to  notice  that  I  did  my  mathematics  in 
about  a  third  of  the  time  it  usually  took.  After 
that  I  experimented.  In  my  town  lives  a 
relative  who  keeps  a  drug-store.  Under  pre- 
text of  experimenting  with  animals  I  got  samples 
of  all  sorts  of  drugs  from  hasheesh  to  morphine. 


236  OUR  SPHINX 

What  I  was  after  was  something  to  sharpen  my 
wits  so  that  I  should  be  brilliant  in  mathe- 
matics. I  guess,  Andrews,"  he  concluded,  "I 
have  had  more  strange  sensations  than  almost 
any  other  man  in  the  world. " 

"  Tell  me  about  some  of  them,"  I  asked. 
"  I  have  always  wanted  to  know  what  it  is  in 
drugs  that  makes  slaves  of  men." 

"Well,  there  are  a  number  of  sensations," 
he  replied  slowly.  "  One  time  I  '  blew  my 
burners/  as  the  saying  is,  in  an  anteroom  of  the 
Capitol  in  Washington.  When  I  started  to 
walk  down  the  steps,  they  seemed  a  thousand 
miles  long,  and  they  tapered  in  size  from  the 
width  of  the  Potomac  at  the  top  to  a  fine  line 
at  the  bottom.  It  was  something  like  the  im- 
pression one  gets  when  standing  close  to  a 
skyscraper  and  looking  up,  but  it  was  indescrib- 
ably exhilarating — a  feeling  of  infinite  space  and 
infinite  power.  But  the  aftermath  is  horrible. 
I  was  recovering  from  too  much  heroin  when  you 
first  came  in  to  see  me.  I  use  that  drug  almost 
entirely  now,  since  it  helps  me  in  my  work  more 
than  any  of  the  others." 

"  But  haven't  you  been  afraid  that  you  would 
become  a  slave  to  the  drug  habit?  You  know 
what  that  means  as  well  as  I." 


OUR  SPHINX  237 

"  Better  than  you,"  was  his  reply.  "  But 
right  from  the  start  I  have  known  that  I  could 
stop  using  it  whenever  I  chose.  In  that  respect 
I  am  different  from  most  dope-takers." 

"  Well,"  he  concluded,  "  that's  the  story  in  a 
nut-shell.  After  sniffing  heroin  I  can  solve 
problems  that  I  couldn't  touch  while  normal. 
Incidentally,  I  have  made  some  original 
researches  trying  to  prove  the  existence  of  a 
fourth  dimension.  However,  that  sort  of  work 
probably  doesn't  interest  you." 

"  Indeed  it  does;  please  tell  me  about  it," 
I  begged. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  as  plainly  as 
possible,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps  I  can  pre- 
sent it  to  you  so  that  you  will  admit  that  this 
extra  dimension  may  exist  either  as  the  ether 
which  fills  space  or  as  a  dimension  which  our 
intellect  alone  is  capable  of  perceiving. 
Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  world  with  but  two 
dimensions,  length  and  breadth,  superimposed 
on  a  world  of  the  three  dimensions  known  to  us. 
Then  the  people  of  the  second  world  would 
only  perceive  the  inhabitants  of  the  two- 
dimensional  world  when  they  were  either  above 
or  below  them,  since  these  people  would  have 
no  thickness.  In  a  similar  manner  there  may 


238  OUR  SPHINX 

be  animate  beings  right  in  this  room  whom  we 
cannot  encounter  because  they  make  no  impres- 
sion on  any  of  our  senses.  But  this  is,  of  course, 
mere  conjecture.  You  have  worked  doubtless 
in  two-dimensional  arithmetic,  have  you  not?  " 

'  With  no  very  great  success/'  I  answered, 
nodding. 

"  Well,  I  can  prove  that  four — and  even  five 
or  six — dimensional  arithmetic  is  possible," 
he  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "  I  have  yet  to  add 
the  connecting  link  to  my  chain  of  evidence, 
but  I  am  morally  certain  that  I  am  on  the  right 
trail,  and  that  in  ten  days  I  can  publish  my  dis- 
covery. It  will  be  the  greatest  thing  in  cen- 
turies," he  cried,  rising  from  his  chair  in  high 
nervous  tension. 

"But  I've  got  to  take  more  heroin  to  do  it," 
he  added  in  a  voice  from  which  all  buoyancy  and 
hope  had  fled.  At  the  thought  his  eyes  lost 
their  brilliancy  and  he  sank  back  limply  in  his 
chair. 

"  I'm  afraid  of  it,  Andrews,"  he  confessed. 
11  Not  so  much  that  it  will  get  a  hold  on  me  as 
that  it  will  drive  me  insane.  Do  you  know, 
sometimes  I  wake  in  the  night  with  the  horrible 
feeling  that  my  mind  is  slipping  and  that  I 
am  on  the  verge  of  being  a  raving  maniac. 


OUR  SPHINX  239 

God,  Andrews!  You  can't  imagine  what  tor- 
ture it  is.  But  I'll  finish  my  work  and  then  I'll 
stop  forever." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say,  Pike,  that  you 
are  going  to  take  any  more  chances  with  dope. 
Let  the  work  go  for  a  while.  You  can  get  it 
finished  later  on  when  you  are  feeling  better." 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  he  replied,  but  I  could 
see  that  his  mind  was  made  up  and  that  nothing 
could  keep  him  from  carrying  out  his  intention. 

For  two  days  I  did  not  see  him.  Then  one 
night  I  was  awakened  by  feeling  him  tugging  at 
my  shoulder. 

"  I've  found  it,"  he  whispered  excitedly. 
"  Come  upstairs  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it." 

I  got  up  and  wrapped  a  bath-robe  about  me. 
Then  we  went  to  Pike's  room. 

"  Won't  my  dad  be  proud,  eh?  "  he  asked, 
speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  me.  "  He's 
a  judge  down  in  Maine,  and  it's  always  been  his 
ambition  that  I  should  achieve  distinction  in 
something,  he  doesn't  care  what.  Won't  he 
be  pleased  when  he  sees  this  in  the  papers!  " 

"  But  damn  that  fellow  Brown,  Andrews!  " 
he  cried,  interrupting  the  thread  of  his  mono- 
logue. "  I  shall  fix  him  for  not  letting  me  build 
clay  houses.  I  had  the  coffin  all  ready — all 


240  OUR  SPHINX 

set  out  with  two  sticks  crossed  in  the  middle, 
and  he  broke  it,  he  broke  it  .  .  .  " 

"  Here,  here,  Pike,"  I  broke  in  sharply, 
alarmed  both  by  his  senseless  jargon  and  the 
madman's  glare  in  his  eyes.  "  What  are  you 
drooling  about?  If  you  intend  showing  me 
the  proof  of  the  fourth  dimension,  get  busy  and 
do  so.  I'm  not  going  to  shiver  here  all  night 
while  you  rehash  your  youthful  tribulations." 

Besides  being  frightened,  I  was  also  annoyed 
at  being  dragged  from  bed  in  the  middle  of  a 
night  very  cold  for  the  season. 

"  Yes,  yes,  quite  right,"  he  answered;  "  but 
somehow  I  can't  seem  to  remember  what  it 
was  I  was  going  to  tell  you.  Wait  a  minute." 

He  went  into  the  bedroom  and  returned  in  a 
moment  with  a  bottle,  seemingly  oblivious  of 
my  presence.  With  a  shaking  hand  he  removed 
the  stopper,  spilling  some  of  the  powder  as  he 
did  so.  After  several  efforts  he  succeeded  in 
pouring  a  pinch  or  two  in  the  hollow  of  his  left 
hand  between  the  thumb  and  fingers.  This  he 
sniffed  into  his  nostrils  as  if  he  were  taking 
snuff. 

"  Ah,  now  I  feel  better,"  he  said,  turning  to 
me.  "  Well,  for  two  days  now  I  have  been 
working  on  the  weak  spot  in  my  proof.  Haven't 


OUR  SPHINX  241 

touched  bed  once.  To-night  I  was  almost 
ready  to  give  up.  Tired  out  and  nervous,  as 
you  see.  Finally,  however,  I  recalled  a  little- 
known  treatise  on  Gozzaldi's  '  Theory  of  Shad- 
ows '  which  I  ran  across  several  years  ago.  The 
mathematical  principles  worked  out  by  the 
author  were  exactly  what  I  needed.  I  haven't 
yet  put  them  on  paper,  but  the  hard  work  is 
done.  Now  I  can  rest." 

His  eyes  closed  and  he  sank  back  wearily  in 
his  chair.  Immediately  he  was  alert  again. 

"  Who  are  they!"  he  whispered  hoarsely, 
clutching  my  arm.  "  They're  coming!  Good 
God,  Andrews !  Do  you  think  they  know  about 
it  already  and  are  coming  to  steal  it?  Brown  is 
there.  I  know  his  voice."  (His  own  voice 
was  now  rising  to  a  shriek.)  "  Hear  him.  He 
told  them  not  to  let  me  make  mud  cakes  with 
him." 

"  Hush,  be  quiet,"  I  begged.  "  No  one  is 
coming.  Here  take  some  brandy  and  you  will 
feel  better." 

"  I  hear  them,  I  tell  you,"  he  screamed, 
"  and  they're  coming  from  all  sides.  Let  me 
go." 

True  enough,  doors  were  now  opening  and 
closing  in  the  hall  and  we  could  hear  the  excited 


242  OUR  SPHINX 

voices  of  men  asking  what  the  row  was  all 
about. 

I  tried  to  hold  Pike  in  his  chair  but  he  broke 
from  me  and  dashed  cursing  about  the  room. 
A  Japanese  vase  containing  flowers  was  standing 
on  the  window-sill.  Pike  picked  it  up  easily, 
although  it  weighed  twenty-five  pounds,  and 
sent  it  crashing  into  the  chandelier.  Next  he 
seized  his  manuscript  and  tore  it  into  a  thou- 
sand pieces  which  he  threw  on  the  floor  and 
stamped  upon. 

By  this  time  the  door  was  opened  by  a  crowd 
of  men  in  pajamas  or  bath-robes.  Together  we 
managed  to  subdue  Pike  while  someone  went 
for  a  doctor. 

The  minute  he  saw  Pike,  the  physician  looked 
very  grave. 

"I'm  sorry  to  tell  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
after  a  short  examination,  "  that  it  looks  as  if 
he  had  reached  the  goal  towards  which  all 
*  dope  fiends  '  are  travelling.  With  good  care 
he'll  live  through  this,  but  his  mind  is  probably 
wrecked  for  good." 

WILLIAM  E.  SHEA. 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES 


THE   SIX   TWENTIES 

'M  SORRY,  Sir,"  apologised  the 
waiter,  "  but  the  cashier  won't 
accept  this  twenty-dollar  bill.  She 
says  a  warning  has  just  been  sent 
out  by  the  police  to  be  on  the  watch  for  counter- 
feit twenties." 

"  Duke  "  Devlin,  as  his  custom  was  on  such 
occasions,  immediately  became  indignant,  and 
insisted  upon  seeing  the  head-waiter.  That 
autocrat  of  the  dining-room  disclaimed  all 
authority  over  the  cashier.  He  could  assure 
Monsieur,  however,  that  there  was  no  question 
of  Monsieur's  honor,  but  that  it  was  purely 
a  matter  of  business  prudence.  Satisfied,  then, 
that  he  had  given  the  desired  impression  of 
insulted  respectability,  Devlin  paid  for  his 
luncheon  with  some  small  bills  and  without 
further  protest  left  the  restaurant. 

By  profession  Devlin  was  a  passer  of  coun- 
terfeit money.  He  did  not  make  the  stuff  him- 
self; his  task  was  to  exchange  it  for  govern- 

245 


246  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

ment  money.  His  associates  called  him  the 
"  Duke  "  in  recognition  of  the  one  great  advan- 
tage which  he  possessed  over  them.  This  was 
the  ability  to  look  and  act  like  a  gentleman— 
an  ability  not  natural  to  Devlin,  but  the  result 
of  painstaking  observation  and  imitation.  He 
had  early  recognised  that  such  an  appearance 
of  respectability  was  a  great  asset  in  his  trade; 
and,  drawing  his  models  from  the  stage,  the 
hotel  lobby,  and  the  Avenue,  he  had  so  trained 
himself  that  he  easily  passed  unquestioned  in 
the  many  fashionable  restaurants,  which  con- 
stituted his  chief  field  of  activity.  And  so 
in  the  character  of  a  rich  young  New  Yorker 
he  could  visit  expensive  places  of  entertain- 
ment, and  there  present  bills  of  large  denomina- 
tions without  danger  of  rousing  suspicion. 
Moreover,  his  ability  at  a  crisis  to  assume  an 
air  of  honest  innocence  had  helped  him  out  of 
many  a  tight  place. 

Devlin  had  already  suffered  three  setbacks 
in  one  day.  After  a  week  of  unusual  luck  in 
his  attempt  to  pass  several  thousand  dollars 
of  counterfeit  "  twenties,"  he  had  met  a  sud- 
den check.  Thanks  to  his  own  activity  and 
skill,  the  market  had  become  flooded;  the  police 
were  aroused;  and  a  warning  had  been  issued 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  247 

to  the  public  to  beware  of  fresh,  clean,  twenty- 
dollar  notes. 

By  this  time,  however,  Devlin  had  rid  himself 
of  all  his  bills  but  six.  These  six  were  almost 
as  dangerous  to  carry  about  as  nitroglycerine, 
and  as  for  passing  them,  he  had  found  it  next  to 
impossible.  But  Duke  Devlin  had  not  a  little 
professional  pride,  and  in  spite  of — perhaps 
on  account  of — the  warnings  and  gloomy  pre- 
dictions of  his  partners  in  crime,  he  determined 
to  keep  at  it  till  his  last  " twenty"  was  gone. 
Accordingly,  as  he  left  the  restaurant,  his  mind 
was  busy  seeking  some  new  field.  The  fashion- 
able eating-places  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  the 
"  Lobster  Palaces  "  of  Broadway  had  heretofore 
sufficed  for  his  purpose.  Now  it  was  evident 
that  intensive  cultivation  had  destroyed  the 
fecundity  of  this  formerly  rich  ground. 

As  he  strolled  up  Fifth  Avenue,  Devlin's  eye 
was  attracted  to  a  display  of  hats  and  canes  in 
the  window  of  a  popular  hatter.  Here,  he 
thought,  was  a  place  he  had  never  tried. 
Accordingly  he  turned,  entered  the  shop,  and 
began  to  look  over  the  stock  of  walking-sticks. 
Finally  he  selected  one  and  handed  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill  in  payment.  The  clerk  took  it  and 
passed  to  the  back  of  the  store,  ostensibly  to 


248  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

get  some  change.  As  Devlin  pretended  to 
adjust  his  tie  in  a  convenient  mirror,  he  saw  the 
reflection  of  the  clerk,  who  was  carefully  examin- 
ing the  bill  under  an  electric  light.  The  latter 
then  abruptly  entered  a  small  private  office, 
and  Devlin,  turning  quickly,  detected  his 
shadow  on  the  ground  glass  pane  of  the  door, 
as  he  reached  up  to  take  down  a  telephone 
receiver. 

This  was  enough  for  Devlin.  In  imagination 
he  pictured  the  police  sergeant  as  he  received 
the  message,  and  the  two  plain  clothes  men,  as 
they  hurriedly  left  the  station.  Although  he 
wanted  to  run,  he  compelled  himself  to  stroll 
quietly  out  on  the  Avenue.  Here  he  turned 
the  corner,  and  walked  rapidly  eastward  in  the 
direction  of  Madison  Avenue.  He  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  rid  of  one  of  the  six  bills,  but 
not  just  in  the  manner  he  had  hoped.  And 
five  yet  remained  to  be  disposed  of. 

"  There's  nothing  to  it,"  he  finally  decided. 
"  New  York  is  getting  too  wise  for  me.  I  guess 
I'll  have  to  skip  over  to  Brooklyn  and  experi- 
ment on  the  natives — only  I  don't  think  they 
ever  saw  a  twenty  over  there  and,  if  I  flashed 
one,  I  might  get  pinched  for  an  absconding 
cashier.  No,  I've  got  it.  I'll  go  up  to  the 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  249 

Bronx.  It'll  only  cost  me  a  nickel,  and  I  can 
work  some  of  the  road-houses  up  there. " 

To  the  mind  of  a  native  of  Manhattan  Island 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Bronx,  as  well  as  those  of 
Brooklyn  and  Hoboken,  are  notorious  "  hicks." 
Moreover,  because  of  the  wealthy  motorists 
who  stop  at  its  many  road-houses,  the  Bronx 
was  especially  fitted  for  Devlin's  purpose.  He 
lost  no  time,  therefore,  in  acting  upon  this 
inspiration,  and  the  elevated  railroad  was  soon 
rattling  him  along  between  the  house-tops  of 
upper  New  York. 

Devlin  had  a  considerable  acquaintance  among 
the  garage  men  of  the  theatre  district,  and 
several  times  he  had  been  included  in  nocturnal 
"  joy  rides."  On  one  of  these  he  remembered 
stopping  at  a  road-house  not  far  from  the  sta- 
tion of  the  Elevated,  and  this  house  he  deter- 
mined to  visit  first. 

The  Heathcote  Arms  is  one  of  a  number  of 
small  inns  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  to  which 
the  fashionable  are  accustomed  to  motor  for 
tea  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  not  so  fashionable 
for  dinner  and  midnight  supper.  Formerly 
a  country  mansion  of  some  elegance,  it  had  been 
deserted  by  its  original  owner,  when  the  City 
had  announced  its  intention  of  turning  the  vast 


250  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

Lorillard  estate  into  a  public  park.  It  stood,  a 
tall,  square,  gambrel-roofed  building,  in  the 
centre  of  about  three  acres  of  lawn.  It  was 
surrounded  by  a  number  of  tall  old  trees,  which, 
in  some  of  their  drooping  branches,  gave  evi- 
dence of  approaching  decay.  Along  the  drive- 
way were  parked  a  number  of  automobiles, 
ranging  from  the  humble  taxi-cab  to  the  Lim- 
ousine de  Luxe. 

To  approach  this  hostelry  on  foot  was  almost 
to  invite  suspicion.  In  Devlin's  case,  however, 
there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  once  past  the  con- 
temptuous eyes  of  the  door-man,  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  mingling  unnoticed  with  the  crowd 
of  respectable  tea-drinkers  in  the  large  glass- 
enclosed  dining-room.  Here  he  selected  one  of 
the  small  tables  ranged  along  the  wall,  and 
true  to  his  instinct  of  imitation,  looked  about 
to  see  what  his  neighbors  were  eating.  The 
prevailing  choice  seemed  to  be  tea,  toast,  and 
marmalade;  and  although  this  combination 
fil  ed  him  with  disgust,  he  decided  that  he  had 
best  follow  his  neighbors'  example.  When  the 
waiter  had  gone  for  his  order,  he  lit  a  cigarette 
and  looked  about  him  more  leisurely. 

In  one  corner  a  uniformed  boy  presided  over 
a  large  phonograph,  which  provided  the  music 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  251 

that  a  true  New  Yorker  demands  with  his  meals. 
The  people  eating  and  listening  to  the  music 
were  for  the  most  part  elderly,  prosperous  and 
self-contented,  and  uninteresting.  Facing  him, 
however,  at  a  small  table  next  in  line  with  his 
own,  sat  one  quite  different — a  young  girl  alone, 
decidedly  pretty,  and  fashionably  though  mod- 
estly dressed.  Although  she  was  unescorted 
Devlin  immediately  set  her  down  in  his  mind  for 
a  "  swell,"  as  she  quietly  and  unobtrusively 
sipped  her  tea.  As  he  covertly  watched  her, 
Devlin  was  conscious  of  a  vague  dissatisfaction 
with  the  part  he  played  in  life.  He  felt  himself 
superior  both  in  taste  and  intellect  to  the 
people  with  whom  he  usually  associated,  and 
he  told  himself  that  he  was  the  equal  of  any  man 
in  the  room.  Nevertheless,  the  companionship 
of  a  refined,  cultivated  girl,  like  this  one,  was 
something  he  had  never  had,  and  probably 
never  should  have. 

While  Devlin  was  engaged  in  these  reflections, 
and  before  his  own  order  had  arrived,  the  girl 
opposite  had  finished  her  tea,  and  paid  her 
check  with  a  single  large  bill.  A  moment  later 
the  waiter  returned  with  the  same  bill  and 
seemed  to  be  apologising.  Glancing  up,  the 
girl  saw  that  Devlin  was  watching  her,  and 


252  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

gave  some  order  to  the  waiter.  He  immediately 
came  over  to  Devlin  and  explained  that  the 
young  lady  had  only  a  hundred-dollar  bill,  and 
that  the  cashier  had  found  herself  unable  to 
change  it.  Consequently  the  young  lady  wished 
to  ask  the  gentleman  if  he  would  change  it  for 
her,  as  she  did  not  wish  to  leave  her  name  with 
the  head-waiter. 

Devlin  could  hardly  believe  his  good  fortune. 
Here  at  last  was  an  answer  to  both  his  wishes. 
He  might  now  at  one  stroke  rid  himself  of  his 
five  remaining  counterfeit  bills  and  speak  to  the 
girl  who  had  so  attracted  him,  without  fear  of 
offending  her.  He  took  the  bill  from  the  waiter's 
hand  and  stepped  to  her  table.  Then  he  bowed 
in  his  best  manner,  borrowed  from  John  Drew, 
and  handed  her  his  counterfeit  change,  at  the 
same  time  murmuring  how  delighted  he  was  to 
be  able  to  do  her  this  slight  service. 

She  thanked  him  graciously  and,  when  the 
waiter  was  gone,  she  asked  him  to  sit  down  and 
have  his  tea  brought  to  her  table.  She  was 
alone,  she  explained,  and  had  become  terribly 
bored  with  her  own  company.  Although  this 
was  the  opportunity  for  which  he  had  hoped, 
Devlin  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  invita- 
tion. He  hastened  to  accept,  however,  and 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  253 

seated  himself  opposite  to  her.  Then,  in  order 
to  start  the  conversation,  he  told  her  how  his 
motor  car  had  broken  down  on  the  road  from  the 
city,  and  how  he  had  been  compelled  to  cover 
the  remaining  short  distance  on  foot. 

"  What  a  pity!"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  should 
hate  that.  But  then,  you  see,  it  could  never 
happen  to  me.  Papa  always  buys  me  a  new 
car  every  year,  and  so  there  is  positively  no 
danger  of  the  horrid  thing  breaking  down. 
And  then,  too,  Henri  is  an  expert  mechanic, 
and  I  know  he  would  die  of  mortification  if  I 
should  ever  have  to  walk  an  inch.  That  is  my 
car  there.  You  can  see  it  out  of  this  window." 

She  pointed  to  a  large,  gray  touring-car  drawn 
up  at  the  side  of  the  driveway.  The  chauffeur, 
in  maroon  livery,  sat  at  the  wheel,  and  near 
the  door  stood  a  footman,  holding  a  fur  rug 
folded  over  his  arm. 

As  Devlin  recognised  all  these  signs  of 
affluence,  he  felt  somehow  relieved  in  con- 
science. For  some  moments  he  had  been 
inwardly  despising  himself  for  having  so  shame- 
fully deceived  this  beautiful  and  trusting  girl. 
Now  he  realised  that  the  hundred  dollars  he 
had  swindled  her  out  of  was  a  mere  trifle. 
Nevertheless,  he  could  not  help  wondering  what 


254  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

she  would  think  of  him  when  she  discovered  that 
the  bills  he  had  given  her  were  counterfeits. 
He  wished  he  hadn't  passed  them.  Would 
she  accuse  him,  or  would  she  think  that  he 
himself  had  been  the  victim  of  some  skilful 
criminal?  Anyway,  he  determined  to  make  the 
best  of  this  brief  episode  in  his  life,  and  cast 
about  in  his  mind  for  some  topic  with  which 
to  prolong  this  charming  tete-a-tete.  But  none 
would  present  itself  except  his  particular  interest 
of  the  moment. 

"  It  was  a  risky  thing  for  you  to  do/'  he  said, 
"  to  accept  change  for  so  large  a  bill  from  a 
stranger.  Just  now  there's  a  bunch  of  '  queer  ' 
money  afloat,  and  the  boys  that  pass  it  work 
everywhere." 

"  Oh,  they  wouldn't  dare  come  to  a  place  like 
this,"  she  protested  confidently.  "  Besides, 
I'm  sure  I  should  find  no  difficulty  in  detecting 
such  a  horrid  person  by  his  appearance.  At 
least,  I  think  I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see 


one." 


Duke  Devlin  flushed  with  pleasure  at  this 
delicate  compliment,  and  yet  he  felt  that  he 
must  defend  his  profession.  "  I  am  told," 
he  remonstrated,  "  that  some  of  these  men  look 
very  much  like  gentlemen.  I've  heard  about 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  255 

them  from  a  detective  I  know.  And  then  you 
mustn't  think  that  the  job  is  a  cinch.  A  suc- 
cessful passer  of  the  *  queer  ' — that's  what  they 
call  counterfeit  money,  you  know — has  to  be 
brave,  as  well  as  smart.  His  nerves  must 
be  as  cool  as  a  baseball  pitcher's,  because  he  is 
always  in  danger  of  being  found  out,  and  a  cool 
bluff  will  often  save  him.  He's  got  to  be  husky, 
too,  or  he  couldn't  stand  the  strain." 

Devlin's  companion  seemed  to  find  a  lively 
interest  in  his  words.  "  Oh,  how  thrilling  it 
must  all  be!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  never  thought 
of  it  in  that  way  before.  You  can't  imagine 
how  a  girl  in  my  position  craves  excitement  of 
some  sort.  Hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  conven- 
tions, one's  life  becomes  terrifically  tiresome. 
Of  course  we  have  dances  and  things,  but  they 
are  always  the  same.  The  men  are  either  stupid 
or  silly,  and  persist  in  treating  a  girl  as  if  she 
was  made  just  to  look  pretty.  Oh,  sometimes  I 
revolt  against  it  all,  and  drive  the  family  nearly 
crazy.  Mother  would  be  simply  frantic  if  she 
saw  me  talking  to  a  perfectly  strange  man 
in  a  perfectly  strange  restaurant;  and  I  suppose 
you,  too,  thought  I  was  dreadfully  bold,  when  I 
asked  you  to  sit  down  with  me." 

Devlin   of   course   protested    that    no   such 


256  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

thought  had  ever  occurred  to  him.  Then, 
encouraged  by  her  evident  interest,  he  told  her 
stories  of  his  own  exciting  adventures  as  a 
counterfeiter,  stories  which  he  explained  he 
had  learned  in  connection  with  his  work  on  one 
of  the  great  metropolitan  papers. 

"But  how,"  she  asked  him  once,  "  can  you 
tell  a  counterfeit  note  when  you  get  one?  I 
should  think  it  would  be  almost  impossible. 
But  then  I  suppose  it  is  like  the  way  people  in 
a  bank  can  always  tell  a  forgery. " 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  easy  enough,"  he  answered. 
"The  advantage — I  mean  the  trouble  is  that 
most  people  never  take  the  trouble  to  learn  how. 
Most  people  look  at  the  paper  or  at  the  vign- 
ettes, and  these  are  the  things  it's  easiest  to 
imitate.  Everything,  in  fact,  on  the  national 
currency  note  can  be  copied,  except  the  fine 
lathe-engraved  lines  that  make  up  the  back- 
ground of  a  bill.  It  isn't  possible  for  any  steel- 
engraver  to  imitate  this  machine-work  by  hand, 
and  I  don't  care  how  good  he  is.  If  you  could 
photograph  them,  then  it  would  be  a  cinch; 
but  the  government  prints  them  green  to  prevent 
that.  Now  take  this  note  of  yours,  for  in- 
stance— " 

As  Devlin  reached  for  his  wallet,  in  which 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  257 

he  had  placed  her  hundred-dollar  bill,  his  com- 
panion, glancing  at  her  wrist- watch,  interrupted 
him. 

"I've  enjoyed  this  immensely, "  she  said. 
"  It  was  all  frightfully  interesting;  but  I'm 
afraid  I  must  go  now,  or  the  family  will  be  wild 
with  anxiety  about  me.  You  see  I  really  am 
a  slave  to  convention,  after  all.  I  do  hope, 
however,  that^  you  will  let  me  give  you  a  lift 
to  town,  unless  your  own  car  has  been  fixed  up." 

Devlin  hastened  to  accept  this  further  kind- 
ness, saying  that  he  had  kept  a  careful  look-out 
and  had  not  seen  his  car  arrive,  and  adding,  for 
the  sake  of  realism,  that  he  intended  to  dis- 
charge his  chauffeur  that  night. 

"Oh,  but  perhaps  it  wasn't  the  poor  fellow's 
fault  at  all,  you  know.  We  may  meet  him 
with  the  car  all  ready  on  the  way  back  to  the 
city.  I  must  go  now  and  get  my  fur  coat  and 
fix  my  veil.  If  you  will  wait  here  for  me,  I'll 
be  back  in  a  moment." 

She  left  Devlin  to  smoke  another  cigarette 
and  to  congratulate  himself  on  his  good  fortune. 
But  then  it  wasn't  all  luck,  he  thought.  Part 
of  it  was  due  to  his  own  cleverness  and  person- 
ality. If  he  had  not  been  clever,  he  should  never 
have  thought  of  going  so  far  afield  as  the 


258  THE  SIX  TWENTIES 

Bronx,  and,  if  he  had  not  been  of  an  engaging 
personality,  his  fair  companion  would  never 
have  ventured  to  trust  him  to  such  an  extent. 
Nor  would  she  have  needed  to,  for  surely  the 
management  would  have  trusted  one  of  her 
evident  wealth  and  respectability.  Then,  too, 
what  a  laugh  he  would  have  over  the  gloomy 
predictions  of  the  rest  of  the  bunch,  when  he 
returned  with  the  last  of  his  counterfeit  bills 
turned  into  good  United  States  money!  Of 
course  he  had  lost  one  of  them  in  the  hat  store, 
but  then  that  accident  must  be  reckoned  among 
the  exigencies  of  his  somewhat  precarious  pro- 
fession. 

So  pleasing  were  these  reflections  that  Devlin 
failed  to  notice  that  the  moment  named  by  his 
new  friend  had  already  stretched  to  at  least 
fifteen  minutes.  In  fact,  he  might  have  con- 
tinued to  sit  there  for  another  quarter  of  an 
hour,  had  his  attention  not  been  attracted  by  a 
movement  among  the  automobiles  on  the  drive. 
The  handsome  gray  touring-car,  which  she  had 
pointed  out  to  him  as  her  own,  rolled  silently 
up  to  the  entrance;  the  footman  opened  the 
door  of  the  tonneau;  a  fat  old  gentleman  and  his 
equally  stout  wife  climbed  heavily  in;  and  then 
the  car  glided  away  in  the  direction  of  the  city. 


THE  SIX  TWENTIES  259 

For  an  instant  Devlin  sat  dazed;  but  only 
for  an  instant.  Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet  and 
passed  quickly  into  the  hall.  Here  he  called 
one  of  the  pages  and  asked  him  a  brief  question. 

"  The  lady  you  was  sittin'  with  didn't  go 
to  the  coat-room  at  all,  Sir,"  the  boy  replied. 
"  She  went  out  the  side  entrance  and  walked 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  Elevated.  She  came 
that  way,  too,  Sir,"  he  added. 

Speechless  Devlin  went  back  and  paid  his  own 
check,  and  then  hurriedly  left  the  restaurant  in 
the  direction  she  had  taken.  As  soon  as  he  had 
passed  out  of  sight  round  a  curve  in  the  road  he 
stopped  and,  drawing  her  hundred-dollar  bill 
from  his  wallet,  he  examined  it  under  a  small 
pocket  glass. 

"  Stung!  "  he  muttered  and  threw  the  bill 
with  an  oath  to  the  road.  In  a  moment,  how- 
ever, his  face  cleared  and  he  stooped  to  pick  it 
up  again.  As  he  replaced  it  in  his  wallet,  he 
exclaimed  aloud:  "  I'll  be  damned  if  it  wasn't 
worth  it!" 

GEORGE  ,C.  SMITH,  JR. 


THE  BALANCE 


THE  BALANCE 

/LL,  Elsie,  one  more  sunset  and  it 
will  all  be  over." 

She  looked  up  with  a  quick  smile 
at  the  well-built  man  leaning  beside 
her  on  the  rail  of  the  promenade  deck. 

"  Do  you  think  life  ends  with  a  honeymoon, 
then? "  she  asked.  "  And  just  because  we 
land  in  New  York  the  day  after  tomorrow,  '  all 
will  be  over?  '  " 

"  Of  course  I  don't,  silly,"  he  replied,  "  I 
was  referring  merely  to  the  honeymoon — so 
termed.  " 

"  It  has  been  just  too  glorious,"  she  answered 
and  paused;  "  but  I  think  it's  time  Dr.  Paul 
Standish  got  to  work  and  his  wife  tried  her  hand 
at  housekeeping,  don't  you?  " 

"  You're  right,"  he  said,  "  as  you  usually 
are.  We've  played  long  enough.  And  I  have 
before  me  one  of  the  greatest  tasks  that  ever 
confronted  a  man.  And,  Elsie,  it's  nearly 
completed.  It  can't  be  long  now.  Do  you 

263 


264  THE  BALANCE 

realise  what  a  cure  for  tuberculosis  will  mean  to 
this  world?  Can  you  imagine  what  it  will 
mean  to  lift  that  horror  from  humanity  for 
good  and  all?  And  I'm  going  to  do  it,  too. 
You  know  how  I've  worked,  worked  all  my  life 
to  get  my  education  and  to  get  a  position  where 
I  could  experiment.  It  has  taken  me  years, 
long  hard  years,  with  trials  that  you,  who 
have  always  had  everything,  can  never  guess. 
But  that's  all  past;  I've  won  a  position  where 
I  have  the  opportunity  to  perfect  this  cure— 
and  I'm  going  to  do  it!  " 

"  And  I  want  to  help — if  I  can,"  she  added 
softly,  with  an  admiring  glance. 

"  You  know  how  you  can  help,"  he  replied; 
"  just  love  me." 

Paul  regarded  Elsie  with  eyes  of  wonder. 
Her  unswerving  devotion  to  ideals  fascinated 
him.  He,  too,  had  his  ideals,  but  they  were 
more  practical  than  hers;  his  life  had  necessi- 
tated that.  She  was  so  young,  so  eager,  so 
trusting!  But  her  confidence  in  him,  he  felt, 
was  not  the  blind  confidence  of  youth.  He 
had  been  tested  and  watched  to  see  if  he  came 
up  to  these  ideals  of  hers,  and  apparently  in  her 
eyes  he  did. 

They  stood  silently  for  a  long  time,  wrapped 


THE  BALANCE  265 

in  their  own  reflections,  and  watching  with 
unseeing  eyes  the  huge  squat  bow  of  the  "  Croe- 
sus "  rise  and  fall  in  the  long  ground  swells. 
The  sun  went  down,  and  the  chill  of  night  began 
to  steal  into  the  air.  Elsie  with  a  laugh  and  a 
tug  at  her  husband's  arm  said: 

"  Come,  dear,  we've  been  standing  here  for 
hours  dreaming  like  a  couple  of  children.  It's 
time  to  dress.  Come  on!  " 

It  was  not  until  late  that  evening  that  they 
finally  turned  in.  The  sea  was  somewhat 
rougher  than  it  had  been  in  the  afternoon,  but 
the  long,  slow  pitching  of  the  boat  did  not 
trouble  them  and  both  were  soon  asleep. 

It  must  have  been  several  hours  later  when 
they  were  awakened  by  a  pounding  on  their 
door.  There  were  sounds  of  general  confusion, 
women  were  sobbing,  and  a  strong  odor  of  smoke 
filled  the  room.  It  required  but  a  second  for 
them  to  realise  that  the  boat  was  on  fire !  Just 
how  serious  it  might  be  they  could  not  tell,  but 
the  noise  outside  seemed  to  be  increasing. 
Paul  reached  for  the  switch  and  snapped  the 
lights  on. 

"  Now,  Elsie,"  he  said,  "  keep  a  grip  on  your- 
self. This  may  be  bad  or  it  may  be  nothing. 
At  any  rate,  don't  act  like  that."  He  jerked 


266  THE  BALANCE 

his  head  in  the  direction  from  which  hysterical 
shrieks  were  coming.  "  Get  into  some  clothes. 
Pumps,  not  shoes,  and  a  coat  you  can  slip  out 
of  easily.  Take-^ll^h^-^ionej^-atid-^welr^i^ 
your  pocket." 

Jffis  matter-of-fact  tone  calmed  her  panic. 
/Her  face  was  white  and  her  lips  were  trembling, 
Hmt  she  quickly  did  as  he  told  her. 

From  all  quarters  came  confused  sounds. 
The  boat  was  quivering  with  the  throb  of  the 
pumps.  Sharp  commands  rang  out  above  the 
din. 

Suddenly  the  lights  in  their  room  went  out 
and  left,  not  darkness,  but  a  ghastly  orange 
glare  filtering  in  from  somewhere.  At  nearly 
the  same  moment  they  heard  the  sharp  hiss  of 
water  as  it  struck  the  flames. 

"  Quick  now,  dear/'  said  Paul.  Seizing  his 
wife  by  the  wrist  he  stepped  into  the  corridor 
with  her.  A  terrified  line  of  people  was  pushing 
forward  through  the  smoke.  The  calm  and 
almost  cheerful  voice  of  an  officer  came  ringing 
down  the  corridor. 

"  Up  for'ard,  quick.     There's  no  danger  at 
present.     Please  pass  up  for'ard." 
/^It~-was— extraordinary   what   aj3.__efifeet— that 
(voice  had.     It  stood  fof"tKscipHireraGd-its  quiet- 


THE  BALANCE  267 

force-brought  courage ..back  to  the  half  panic- 
stricken  passengers. 

-Somehow  they  reached  the  boat  deck,  and 
stood-Jbr  a  mumtnl  almost  fascinated  T>y  the- 
unreal.. -.splendor  j^f  the  srene.  The  stern  of 
the  boat  was  blotted  out  in  a  solid  column 
of  dense  orange  smoke.  Silhouetted  against 
this  were  a  swaying  mass  of  people.  Behind 
them  were  the  men  who  were  standing  grimly 
in  the  fierce  heat,  fighting  with  hose  and  water 
to  save  these  hundreds  of  lives.  As  they 
watched,  the  smoke  grew  even  denser,  and  then 
with  a  roar  and  an  upheaval  of  glowing  sparks 
and  cinders,  the  flame  burst  through  the  deck 
and  shot  its  lurid  column  to  the  sky. 

It  was  a  question  of  minutes  now.  The 
boats  were  being  rapidly  filled  and  lowered  into 
the  glowing  sea  below.  Paul  fought  his  way 
through  the  throng  to  a  boat  already  half  full 
and  lifted  Elsie  in.  His  heart  was  beating 
madly  and  his  breath  coming  in  sobs.  She  flung 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  but  he  pushed  her 
back  after  one  embrace. 

"  Good-bye,  dear.  I'll  come  if  I  can.  Keep 
your  courage  up  and  do  what  you  can  to  help," 
ae-wrii&pci'cdrand  left  her  to  aid  a  hysterical 
woman. 


268  THE  BALANCE 

In  a  second  more  the  boat  was  being  swung 
out  over  the  side.  A  dull  calm  had  swept  over 
Elsie.  She  felt  herself  careless  of  what  might 
happen  now.  But  it  did  not  last  long.  Why, 
oh  why  had  she  left  Paul?  He  was  going  to 
burn  to  death  or  drown  KJSfie"  stood  up  and 

— • ' =:^v^  ^^-— — '      '     '  **       V 

ffungTiei^anrLS^rtiFto  the  burning  steamed  her 
brain  in  a  turmoil;  but  a  rough  Irand  pulled 
her  down  and  she  sat  cowering^m  her  place, 
her  body  shaking  with  sobs.  In  a  vague  way 
she  was  aware  that  the  boat  had  been  lowered 
into  the  water  and  was  resting,  nose  into  the 
long  waves,  some  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
steamer.  She  could  not  bear  to  look  at  it  and 
turned  her  ejres  to  the  occupants  of  the  life- 
boat. With  the  exception  of  the  crew  and  two 
sobbing  men,  the  boat  was  crowded  with  children 
and  women. 

/ 

Then  it  came  upon  her  all  at  once — the 
glory  of  sacrifice!  On  that  floating  Hell  men 
were  dying  that  they,  that  she  might  live! 
In  the  final  test  her  husband  had  lived  up  to 
the  standard.  The  words,  "  Greater  love  hath 
no  man  than  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friend/'  flashed  into  her  mind.  And  his  own 
last  words  came  back  to  her:  "Good-bye,  dear, 
I'll  come  if  I  can.  Keep  your  courage  up,  and 


THE  BALANCE  269 

do  what  you  can  to  help."  She  felt  herself 
carried  away  by  a  feeling  of  happy  agony. 
She  turned  her  eyes  back  to  the  steamer.  They 
were  jumping  off  now,  but  it  meant  inevitable 
death.  No  man  could  live  long  in  that  sea! 
Suddenly  her  eyes  caught  the  figure  of  Paul 
standing  by  the  last  life-boat  on  that  side. 
He  was  fighting  back  crazed  men  and  putting 
a  woman  into  the  boat.  Fascinated  she 
watched.  The  boat  seemed  full.  Another 
woman  was  clinging  to  Paul's  arm.  For  a 
second  he  stood  motionless.  Then  with  a 
quick  gesture  he  pushed  her  back  and  sprang 
into  the  life-boat  himself! 

A  surge   of  horror   swept  over   Elsie.     She 

slipped  from  her  seat  unconscious. 

****** 

Elsie  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  but  quickly 
shut  them,  for  the  glare  of  the  morning  light 
hurt.  Then  the  memory  of  the  night  flashed 
over  her.  She  vaguely  wondered  where  she 
was,  but  cared  little.  Her  body  ached  and  her 
head  throbbed,  but  worst  of  all  in  her  heart 
was  a  sensation  of  utter  despair.  Her  world 
lay  crumbled.  There  was  nothing  left.  The 
horror  of  what  she  had  seen  her  husband  do 
grew  upon  her  moment  by  moment.  If  he 


270  THE  BALANCE 

could  only  have  died  like  a  man  instead  of 
living  like  a,  like  a — her  heart  said  coward, 
and  she  quivered  with  the  bitterness  of  it. 

At  last  she  looked  about.  She  was  lying  on 
a  mattress  in  what  was  apparently  the  lounge 
of  a  small  liner.  Around  her  were  others,  like 
herself  lying  prostrate,  wrapped  in  blankets. 
Stewards,  a  doctor,  and  several  capable-looking 
women  were  doing  what  they  could  to  make  it 
easier  for  the  victims  of  the  disaster.  She 
gathered  that  the  wireless  had  saved  them  and 
that  they  had  been  picked  up  during  the  night. 
As  she  moved,  a  woman  came  to  her  with  hot 
broth  and  a  cheerful  word,  but  Elsie  could  only 
shake  her  head  and  close  her  eyes.  After  a 
time  she  fell  again  into  a  troubled  sleep. 

When  next  she  wakened  she  looked  up  into 
the  face  of  Paul.  His  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears  as  he  bent  over  her  and  said  in  a  broken 
voice: 

"  Thank  God,  Elsie,  you  are  safe." 

"Don't!  Don't !"  she  cried,  putting  her 
clenched  fists  in  her  eyes  m  hr  brnt  to  lri  11  hrx 
"  Go  away,  Paul!  I  can  never  look  at  you 
again.  Oh,  how  could  you  do  such  a  thing?  " 

For  a  moment  he  thought  she  was  out  of  her 
mind.  Then  he  gradually  realised  what  she 


THE  BALANCE  271 

,  meant — what  she  had  seen.  ,  The  joy  left  his 
heart.  He  looked  down  at  her  shaking  body  and 
the  hopeless  pain  in  her  face,  and  knew  that  her 
sense  of  honor  was  stronger  than  her  love. 

"  Paul,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  can't  live  with  the 
horror  that  is  stifling  me.  When  I  saw  you 
take  the  place  that  woman  should  have  had — " 
her  words  cut  into  his  heart — "  I — I — don't  you 
see?  The  man  I  loved  was  a — a — a  coward." 
She  ended  in  a  broken  whisper.  He  rose  and 
paced  back  and  forth  in  the  small  state-room 
where  she  lay  now.  His  face  was  white,  and 
drawn  into  harsh  lines. 

"  Elsie,"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice,  "  you've 
called  me  a  coward — I'm  not  going  to  make 
excuses.  That's  not  my  way.  I  did  take  a 
place  in  the  boat  which  that  stewardess  might 
have  had.  But  I  did  not  do  it  out  of  cowardice." 

"  Then  why — why  did  you  do  it?  "  she  asked, 
—looking  at  him  with  wide  and  pleading  eyes. 

"  I  did  it,"  he  went  on,  scarcely  seeming  aware 
of  the  huddled  figure  in  the  berth,  "  I  did  it 
out  of  selfishness." 

"  Selfishness?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  selfishness,"  he  cried  turning  fiercely 
toward  her.  "  Good  God,  don't  you  know 
me  well  enough  to  know  I'm  not  a  coward?  I 


272  THE  BALANCE 

did  it  deliberately — just  as  I  planned  to  do  from 
the  moment  the  thing  began.  I  stayed  and  did 
what  I  could  to  help,  but  I  felt  that  I  had  as 
good  a  right  as  anyone  else  to  live  my  life.  I 
didn't  save  myself  in  a  frightened,  cowardly 
panic.  You  know  that!  " 

"  That  doesn't  change  what  you  did,"  she 
answered  in  a  hopeless  voice. 

"  Of  course  it  doesn't,"  he  said;  "  I  told  you 
I'm  not  trying  to  crawl.  I  did  it  deliberately 
because  I  thought  my  life  was  worth  more  than 
that  woman's." 

"  Who  are  you  to  judge  your  life  in  the 
balance  with  another's?  "  she  said,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  scorn. 

"  Who  are  you,"  he  replied,  "  to  judge  me? 
You  who  allowed  yourself  to  be  saved?  Why 
didn't  you  stay  and  die  that  some  man  who 
had  done  something  for  the  world,  and  still 
could  help  the  world,  might  live?  Have  you 
a  better  right  to  live  than  those  men?  " 

"  Those  men  chose  to  sacrifice  themselves 
because  they  were  men."  H^r  voice--wa&~Eing- 
ing  with  conviction  now.  "  They  did  not  stop 
to  figure  out  the  petty  value  of  their  own  lives. 
They  did  the  only  noble,  the  only  honorable 
thing.  They  laid  down  their  lives  for  others!" 


THE  BALANCE  273 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  right,"  he  retorted 
quickly,  "  that  those  men  who  had  positions  of 
responsibility  in  the  world,  and  people  dependent 
on  them,  should  give  up  their  lives  that  others 
far  less  useful  than  they  should  live? 

"  Do  you  think  that  my  life  is  less  valuable 
to  the  world  than  that  of  a  stewardess?  Have 
you  forgotten  that  I  have  given  my  life  to  a 
greater  cause  than  dying  to  save  jpne — that  of 
living  to  help  hundreds?  Have  you  forgotten 
that  my  life  has  been  devoted  to  a  work  to  aid 
humanity  and  relieve  human  suffering,  and  that 
if  I  had  died  last  night,  the  world  would  have 
lost  the  secret  of  the  cure  which  I  alone  possess? 
Don't  you  think  it  is  my  duty  to  live?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  slowly,  "  sacrifice  is  duty 
always.  The  world's  judgment  has  always  said 
so.  Wait  and  see." 

"  The  world  may  persist  in  its  illusions, 
beautiful  and  mad  as  they  are,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain in  my  heart  of  my  right  to  live,"  he 
responded  almost  humbly.  "  Yet  if  life  is  to 
be  this,  it  is  ten  thousand  times  worse  than  a 
death  I  did  not  fear."  He  sank  into  a  chair 
and  dropped  his  head  into  his  hands. 

She  looked  at  him  without  pity.  What  use 
were  arguments  or  wishes?  She  felt  strangely 


274  THE  BALANCE 

incapable  of  emotion  now  that  he  realised  how 
she  felt.  She  only  wanted  to  be  left  alone  and 
to  let  time  ease  her  shame  as  best  it  could. 

"  It's  all  over,"  she  said  wearily.  "  Nothing 
can  change  it.  I  want  you  to  go." 

He  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

"  Elsie,  you're  overwrought  now,"  he  said 
gently;  "  you've  said  a  lot  of  things  you  don't 
mean.  I  think  that  in  a  few  days  matters  may 
look  differently.  Until  then,  well,  try  to  think 
of  it  as  little  as  you  can.  I'm  going,  as  you 
want  me  to,  but  I'll  come  back  to-morrow." 

He  stepped  out  and  carefully  closed  the  door. 

The  next  afternoon  Paul  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  deck  of  the  steamer  which  had  come  to 
their  aid.  He  had  gone  over  in  his  mind  the 
harrowing  details  of  the  situation  until  he  felt 

had  been  only.  thirty- 


two  lives  lost,  for  this^boat  had  come'up  within 
two  hours  of  the  time  tnKfirst  wk*eless  message 
had  been  despatched,  an&ykad  contrived  to 
get  off  most  of  the  peopl^left  on  the  burning 
"  Croesus  "  after  her  >HTe-boa\s  had  all  been 
lowered.  Most  of  >*nose  whoNiad  perished 
had  jumped  into/me  sea.  One  thought  alone 
kept  his  courage  up.  The  stewardessNwhom  he 

might  hav^aved  had  survived.     He  did  not 

\ 


THE  BALANCE  275 

how  she  had  reached  safety,  but  he^nad, 
afW  long  searching,  discovered  her  sitting  on  a 
loweK  deck,  safe  and  talking  with  af  group  of 
friendk  He  was  hoping  against  hope  that  this 
fact  mikht  change  Elsie's  determination.  If 
only  she  csould  see  that  his  action  had  made  no 
difference,\that  it  was  partly  because  of  his 
great  love  for  her  and  partly  because  he  hon- 
estly believed\that  he/had  a  better  right  to 
live,  that  he  h&d  s^ved  himself!  He  felt  no 
anger  toward  the^xgirl  who  had  called  him  a 
coward;  he  had/omv  a  dull,  blind  hope  that 
she  might  be/aole  to  justify  him  in  her  heart. 
He  did  not  Want  her  to  forgive  him;  that  would 
only  meaXthat  the  ghost\pf  the  deed  would 
always  be  between  them,  and  that  it  might  drive 
away/che  love  now  strong  enough  to  reunite 
thetfi.  He  realised  that  his  only\hance  lay  in 
convincing  her  that  his  action  wasjttstifiable. 
He  thought  again  and  again  of  the  bitter  con- 
versation they  had  had  the  day  before;  and 
his  heart  ached  that  such  words  could  have 
come  between  them.  He  must,  he  told  himself 
a  thousand  times,  he  must  justify  himself  in 
her  eyes;  therein  lay  his  sole  salvation. 

That  evening  Elsie  sent  for  him.     With  his 
heart  beating  heavily  and  his  hand  trembling, 


276  THE  BALANCE 

he  knocked  at  the  door  of  her  room.  After  he 
had  entered,  one  glance  at  her  white,  determined 
face  made  him  fear  that  his  quest  was  useless. 

"  I  sent  for  you,"  said  Elsie  quite  calmly, 
'  because  we  have  got  to  come  to  some  under- 
standing." 

"  Elsie,"  said  Paul  firmly,  "  do  you  realise 
what   you   are   doing?     If  you   keep   up   this 
attitude  both  our  lives  will  be  wrecked.     I  love 
you,  and  you  love  me.     You  can't  deny  that." 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  her.  She  lay 
motionless  in  her  berth,  her  face  inexpressive. 

!<  I  don't  ask  you  to  forgive  me,"  he  went  on; 
"  I  ask  you  to  try  to  look  the  matter  squarely 
in  the  face.  When  we  talked  the  other  day  we 
were  both  more  or  less  hysterical;  we've  got 
to  look  at  it  calmly  now.  Will  you  hear  me 
out?" 

She  nodded,  so  he  resumed  his  plea. 

"  First  of  all,  I  am  a  man  who  has  been  and 
can  be  of  service  to  the  world.  My  life  is  essen- 
tial to  mankind  because  I  am  on  the  eve  of 
completing  a  discovery  of  a  wonderful  cure.  I 
am  not  a  coward.  My  act  was  the  result  of  a 
logical  conviction,  in  which,  however  you  may 
feel,  I  remain  in  my  own  eyes  justified. 

"  Secondly,  you  are  judging  me  according  to 


THE  BALANCE  277 

ideals  which  you  have  built  up  out  of  a  life 
that  has  known  nothing  of  the  struggle  of  the 
world.  How  do  you  know  that  your  ideals 
are  right?  How  do  you  know  that  you  are 
not,  out  of  a  blind  devotion  to  unjust  creeds, 
ruining  my  life  as  well  as  your  own?  Have 
you  any  more  right  to  do  this  than  I  had  to  do 
as  I  did? 

"  And  finally,  though  this  is  no  justification, 
the  woman  was  saved.  I  don't  know  how,  but 
I  saw  her  this  morning,  safe  and  unhurt. 

"  There  has  been  no  harm  done,  my  action 
is  justifiable  in  my  own  eyes.  Have  you  any 
right  to  ruin  us  both  because  of  a  mere  ques- 
tion of  gallantry?  Had  it  been  a  man  instead 
of  a  woman,  you  would  have  thanked  God  I 
had  survived,  instead  of  calling  me  what  you 
did.  Again  I  ask  you  to  look  at  the  question 
squarely.  Have  you  the  right  to  wreck  both 
our  lives?  ' 

"  Paul,"  she  answered  sadly,  "  I  would  to 
God  you  could  convince  me,  but  you  can't; 
whether  the  woman  lived  or  died  makes  no 
difference.  It  is  the  principle  of  the  thing: 
you  failed  to  do  what  a  noble  man  should;  you 
failed  to  give  up  your  life  to  rescue  a  woman. 
You  know  I  did  not  want  to  see  you  die,  but  I 


278  THE  BALANCE 

had  rather  see  you  die  honorably  than  live- 
dishonorably."  Ske.  stood  out  biavdy  fur  "her 
_cgji3dction8»  "  You  have  been  my  idol;  now 
you  are  shattered.  I  can  never  be  content  with 
a  piece  of  my  idol.  It  has  to  be  all  or  none. 
Don't  you  see  we  can  never  live  together  with 
this  awful  thing  between  us?  " 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
said  quietly: 

"  I  suppose  you  will  want  a  divorce  ;"-he  saw- 
hcr-quivcr-at  the  word";  "  if  you  insist,  it  can 
doubtless  be  secured.  But  I  want  to  make  one 
request  of  you.  I  think  you  are  deciding  this 
matter  too  quickly.  Why  can  we  not  simply 
live  apart  for  a  year,  and  see  if  we  then  feel  the 
same  way?  Don't  you  think  that  is  just?  " 

After  a  moment's  thought  she  nodded. 

"  Then  we  will  simply  live  apart  for  a  year 
before  we  take  any  more  definite  steps?  " 

"  For  a  year,"  she  answered. 
****** 

Through   the   open   window   came    a   faint, 
warm  breeze.     It  whispered  of  a  summer  to 
come,    and,    Gomdiciw  —  even    though~4t~-  blew 
v<fts1"  pity.  Riiggf.Qf'pH  £\T[  ndor  of  prow- 


ng  things,  of-flowcfs. 
Dr.  Paul  Standish,  the  man  who  in  a  brief 


THE  BALANCE  279 

seven  months  after  his  escape  from  the  "  Croe- 
sus "  disaster,  had  astounded  New  York  by 
the  discovery  of  a  cure  for  tuberculosis  which 
had  brought  him  prayers  of  infinite  gratitude 
from  a  suffering  world,  lay  pallid  and  motion- 
less, little  caring  whether  the  breeze  that  blew 
into  his  tiny  white  hospital  room  promised 
summer  or  not.  He  had  worked  day  and  night, 
neglecting  himself  entirely  in  a  passionate 
attempt  to  forget  the  past  and  to  justify  his 
existence.  And  then  he  had  suddedly  collapsed, 
and  for  two  days  had  lain  so  ill  that  the  doctors 
shook  their  heads  over  his  case. 

He  knew  even  better  than  they  that  he  was 
not  far  from  death.  A  grim  fatalism  had  seized 
him  and  he  lay  careless  of  whether  he  lived  or 
died.  Gradually  after  his  separation  from  his 
wife,  the  morbid  conviction  grew  upon  him  that 
he  had  been  a  coward.  The  belief  that  he  had 
been  justified  had  been  shattered.  He  saw 
himself  only  cynically.  What  had  his  life 
been  but  sordid  ambition  for  prominence  and 
prestige?  Had  these  motives  not  been  far 
stronger  in  him  than  a  love  of  humanity? 
And  if  they  had,  where  was  his  justification? 
Over  and  over  in  his  mind  he  turned  the  bit- 
ter arguments  until,  humbled  and  despondent, 


280  THE  BALANCE 

in  a  fury  of  desire  to  make  up  for  the  past, 
he  plunged  into  his  work  heart  and  soul. 
Thoughtless  of  himself,  fearless  and  des- 
perate, he  accomplished  under  the  spur  of 
his  shame  what  seemed  impossible.  The  world 
was  ringing  with  his  name  and  achievements. 
No  man  could  stand  that  pace  for  long;  and 
here  he  lay  at  last  utterly  broken.  He  felt  his 
strength  slipping  from  him,  and  although  he 
realised  that  with  effort  and  determination  he 
could  win  it  back,  he  did  not  try.  Until  Elsie 
could  justify  him,  he  could  never  justify  him- 
self. And  so  if  he  could  but  go  quietly  away 
from  it  all— 

Over  next  the  window,  a  trim-looking  nurse 
was  absorbed  in  an  afternoon  paper  which 
reported  the  condition  of  her  patient  and  told 
how  he  was  living  apart  from  his  wife  who  was 
at  her  father's  home  in  Boston.  Presently  she 
crossed  over  and  gave  his  pillow  an  unnecessary 
but  kindly  little  pat.  He  smiled  wanly  up  at 
her  and  said,  "  You  are  very  good  to  me,  Miss 
Smith." 

"  Who  wouldn't  be  to  so  famous  a  patient?  " 
she  answered  with  a  little  laugh,  which  sobered 
quickly  enough  when  she  saw  that  the  old  look 
of  suffering  was  coming  back  on  his  face. 


THE  BALANCE  281 

Soon  she  ventured  another  remark. 

"  There's  a  new  nurse  coming  on  duty  at 
half  past  four." 

He  made  no  reply,  and  she  added:  "  I  hope 
you'll  like  her." 

Presently  he  drowsed  off  to  sleep,  and  Miss 
Smith  tiptoed  quietly  out. 

When  he  awoke,  dusk  was  just  beginning  to 
settle  over  the  city.  He  was  thirsty  and  about 
to  ask  Miss  Smith  for  a  drink,  when  he  remem- 
bered that  this  slim  figure  in  the  nurse's  uniform 
standing  at  the  window  was  a  new  nurse. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  began. 

The  girl  started  and  turned  toward  him. 

"  Elsie,  Elsie!  "  he  cried  with  an  incredulous 
joy  in  his  tone,  "  you — you  have  come." 

He  held  out  his  arms  and  she  bent  down  and 
kissed  his  worn  face. 

"  You  came  back  to  me,  Elsie.  Oh,  how  I've 
longed  for  you !  I  couldn't  have  stood  it  much 
longer,  but  you  came  back  to  me!  " 

She  slipped  to  her  knees  beside  his  bed  and 
pressed  his  hot  hand  against  her  cheek. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  said  gently,  '"  I've  come 
back  and  I'm  never  going  again.  I  love  you 
too  much.  But  Paul,  you  were  right;  I  had  to 
justify  you  in  my  own  eyes  and  I've  done  it." 


282  THE  BALANCE 

Her  face  glowed  with  the  joy  of  honest  be- 
lief in  the  worth  of  her  husband.  "  You  have 
done  enough  for  the  world,  to  clear  yourself 
a  thousand  times  over.  Look  at  the  lives  you 
have  saved  and  can  save.  If  you  had  not  been 
so  worthy,  I  could  never  have  looked  at  the  thing 
as  I  now  do.  What  have  I  ever  done  to  set 
myself  up  as  superior  to  you?  Why  should  any 
woman  assume  that  she  has  a  better  right  to 
live  than  a  man?  Oh  Paul!  I've  been  so 
wrong,  and  you've  been  so  splendid,  giving  up 
your  very  life  and  soul  that  others  might  have 
their  way  made  easier  through  the  world!  And 
to  think  that  I  deserted  you!  Can  you  ever, 
ever  forgive  me?  " 

She  buried  her  head  in  her  arms,  kneeling 
there  at  his  bedside,  and  sobbed. 

Paul  reached  out  his  hand  and  placed  it  on 
her  soft  hair. 

"  Forgive  you,  Elsie?  "  he  replied.     "  Why- 
why,  it's  you  who  have  forgiven  me." 

"  I  have  not  forgiven  you,"  she  answered, 
lifting  her  eyes  proudly  to  his.  "  There  is 
nothing  to  forgive.  You  have  been  weighed  in 

the  balance  and  not  found  wanting." 

****** 

Some  time  later  the  door  opened  and  a  plump 


THE  BALANCE  283 

little  doctor  stepped  in.  He  paused  for  a 
moment,  beaming  through  his  spectacles  and 
rubbing  his  hands  softly  together,  before  he 
murmured  to  himself: 

"  One  of  the  best  nurses  I  have  ever  seen! 
Emphatically  so! ' 

RICHARD  B.  SOUTHGATE. 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 


THE   GRIP   OF   THE   TROPICS 


a  window  of  his  plantation 
house,  which  stood  among  the  fields 
of  hemp  in  the  island  of  Mindanao, 
Richard  Wallace  could  see  his  little 
Philippine  wife,  Manuela,  lighting  the  lamps. 
When  he  entered  the  house  she  left  a  lamp  she 
was  beginning  to  trim,  and  pattered  in  her 
loose-fitting  slippers  into  the  hall. 

"Ricardo!"  she  exclaimed,  feigning  anger, 
"  you  are  a  naughty  nino  not  to  have  come  di- 
rectly to  the  house  when  you  returned  from 
Zamboanga.  Juan  told  me  that  when  you  left 
the  launch  you  strolled  along  the  beach.  Your 
little  Manuela  has  been  so  lonely!  " 

He  bent  over  and  kissed  the  little  brown 
butterfly,  looking  at  her  in  such  a  strange  way 
that  she  asked:  "  Did  you  get  a  letter  from 
your  familia  in  America?  And  do  they  want 
you  to  return?  "  Her  last  question  was  asked 
in  a  startled  little  voice. 

"  Don't    bother    your    head    about    them. 

287 


288  THE  GRIP  OF  THE   TROPICS 

Parents  are  always  anxious  to  see  their  children," 
Wallace  answered,  rather  confused. 

"But  you  won't  go?  Tell  me!  You  won't 
go?  "  she  queried  frantically. 

"  Nonsense,  Manuela! "  and  he  left  her 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  hall  looking  in 
some  alarm  after  him. 

On  entering  the  little  room  he  called  his 
office,  Wallace  slammed  the  door  behind  him, 
and  threw  himself  into  a  wicker  chair.  Then 
he  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  read  it 
several  times.  Dropping  the  letter  into  his 
lap,  he  rocked  quickly  to  and  fro.  Suddenly 
on  the  evening  breeze  which  drifted  in  through 
the  open  window  came  the  monotonous  "  Bung- 
boong-boong,  bung-boong-boong  "  of  the  tom- 
toms from  a  neighboring  Moro  village.  "  Oh, 
if  I  could  only  get  away  from  that,  too!  "  he 
exclaimed.  Seizing  the  letter  again,  he  re-read 
the  last  paragraphs: 

1  You  have  been  five  years  away  from  home 
in  those  hot,  sweltering  Philippines!  Think 
of  it — five  whole  years  on  a  desolate  plantation 
with  only  natives  as  your  companions;  and  a 
village  of  Moros,  who  hate  all  Christians,  only 
three  miles  away!  Surely  you  can  spare  your- 
self a  few  months'  vacation.  Do  come  home! 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  289 

We  must  see  you !  If  it  were  not  for  the  thirty- 
day  sea  trip — you  know  how  desperately  ill 
I  am  at  sea — I  should  go  out  to  you. 

"  What  you  told  me  about  a  Moro's  believing 
that  if  he  kills  a  Christian,  he'll  go  to  Heaven 
on  a  white  horse  and  have  eight  pretty  girls 
to  wait  on  him  there,  was  most  interesting;  but 
I  should  think  the  Christian  Philippines  and 
you  Americans  would  have  to  be  always  on 
the  qui  vive. 

"  With  best  of  love, 

"  Mother." 

Slowly  Wallace  replaced  the  letter  in  his 
pocket  and  muttered: 

11  I  would  go  home  on  the  next  steamer,  if  I 
thought  I'd  have  the  nerve  to  come  back!  " 

He  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  window.  Rest- 
ing his  elbows  on  the  sill  and  his  chin  in  his 
hands,  he  looked  vacantly  out  over  the  hemp 
trees  swaying  in  the  breeze,  and  beyond  them, 
over  an  expanse  of  water,  now  dusky  in  the  dim 
light  of  closing  day.  His  thoughts  went  ram- 
bling back  to  the  day  he  left  the  States.  He 
wished  that  he  had  done  as  his  father  had 
wanted  him  to  do  when  he  had  graduated  from 
college.  But  he  was  not  willing  to  begin  at  the 
bottom  in  his  father's  silk-mill,  and  work  up, 


290  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

thus  learning  the  business  thoroughly.  It 
seemed  now  a  trivial  thing  to  have  quarreled 
over. 

And  that  quarrel  had  caused  so  much  trouble 
and  unhappiness!  He  remembered  when  he 
told  Alicia,  to  whom  he  was  all  but  engaged, 
that  on  account  of  a  falling  out  with  his 
father  he  was  going  away  to  start  in  business 
for  himself — going  to  the  Philippines  to  be  a 
planter  of  hemp.  He  thought  he  could  almost 
hear  the  little  cry  she  gave  at  the  word  Philip- 
pines— they  were  so  far  away  from  East  Hamil- 
ton, Massachusetts.  And  he  recalled  how, 
with  the  last  good-bye,  it  was  understood  that 
when  he  had  made  a  success,  or  was  well  on  the 
road  to  it,  he  would  return  for  her,  and  she 
would  be  waiting  for  him. 

But  how  differently  everything  had  turned 
out!  In  reminiscence  he  went  over  his  first 
years  in  the  Islands.  How  quickly  the  first 
four  or  five  months  on  the  plantation,  which  he 
had  named  Buena  Suerte,  or  Good  Luck,  had 
passed;  how,  as  the  months  began  to  slip  by, 
he  found  it  harder  and  harder  to  do  things, 
and  how  the  climate  seemed  to  take  most  of 
his  energy  from  him!  He  recalled  the  hours  he 
used  to  pass  each  day  thinking  of  home  and 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  291 

Alicia,  and  the  pleasure  he  obtained  from  the 
trips  to  Zamboanga,  twenty  miles  down  the 
coast,  where  he  could  talk  to  Americans.  They 
would  always  speak  longingly  of  the  time  when 
they  expected  "  to  go  back — "  that  everlasting 
and  consoling,  "  When  I  go  back  to  the  States. " 

Then  he  remembered  how  "  wet-blanketed" 
his  hopes  were  at  the  end  of  the  first  year, 
when  Buena  Suerte  barely  paid  for  its  up- 
keep. Alicia  had  offered  to  come  out  to  the 
Philippines  and  marry  him,  if  he  so  desired. 
Regretfully  he  recalled  that  he  had  written 
her  rather  a  severe  letter,  in  which  he  told  her 
he  could  take  care  of  his  affairs  without  a 
woman's  assistance;  and  that,  after  this  letter, 
their  correspondence  began  to  fall  off.  He 
cursed  himself  for  his  temper. 

Then  Wallace  thought  of  the  first  time  he 
saw  Manuela.  She  was  squatting  on  a  rock  in 
the  middle  of  a  shallow  river,  washing  clothes 
in  Philippine  style,  which  is  placing  the  clothes 
on  a  rock,  and  with  a  huge  stick  pounding  them 
vigorously.  Her  black  hair  was  coiled  in  a 
knot  on  the  top  of  her  head,  and  a  bright  red 
piece  of  calico  was  wrapped  round  her  grace- 
ful young  figure  from  her  armpits  to  a  little 
below  her  knees.  He  recalled  how  ridiculously 


292  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

jealous  he  became  of  an  old  caribao  which  lolled 
in  a  deep  pool,  shaded  by  overhanging  bamboo 
trees,  and  blinked  sleepily  at  her.  All  this  he 
saw  in  his  mind's  eye,  as  if  he  were  looking 
upon  the  scene  at  the  present  moment.  And 
then  his  joke  about  the  caribao — what  had  it 
been?  He  couldn't  remember;  but  he  could 
almost  hear  her  musical  young  voice  ring  out 
with  laughter. 

The  next  two  months — ah,  yes!  he  remem- 
bered them  well !  For  it  was  then  that  he  wooed 
Manuela.  He  remembered  how  her  fascinating 
little  ways  and  odd  superstitions  had  been  a 
source  of  affectionate  amusement  to  him,  and 
how  once  more  be  began  to  take  heart  in  his 
work,  and  for  a  time  almost  forgot  about  home 
and  Alicia.  And  the  day  he  took  Manuela 
into  Zamboanga  and  married  her — what  a  place 
that  day  held  in  his  memory! 

Wallace  recalled  sadly  that  he  had  never  told 
his  family  or  Alicia  of  his  marriage.  It  would 
have  been  too  severe  a  blow,  he  had  thought, 
to  those  New  England  people.  He  had  hoped, 
though,  to  tell  them  some  time.  He  remem- 
bered how  he  had  upbraided  himself  for  being 
ashamed  of  the  woman  he  had  chosen  for  his 
wife,  and  how  each  time  he  started  to  write 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  293 

home  of  his  marriage  the  words,  "  Your  wife 
is  not  white!  "  would  hammer  madly  upon  his 
ear-drums,  and  finally  he  would  tear  up  the 
unfinished  letter.  He  thought  he  should  never 
forget  the  day,  when  in  Zamboanga  he  had 
accidentally  overheard  the  remark,  "  He  can't 
be  much.  He  married  a  native!  " 

Then  Wallace  recalled  his  fruitless  attempts 
at  educating  Manuela,  at  making  her  like  the 
women  he  was  accustomed  to  associate  with. 
And  how  hard  the  poor  little  thing  tried  to  learn ! 
But  it  was  all  in  vain.  It  just  was  not  in  her ! 
He  realised  now  that  the  inevitable  must  have 
happened.  And  he  could  almost  feel  this  very 
moment  those  first  pangs  of  regret  at  having 
married  Manuela. 

The  day  the  baby  was  born  came  rushing 
back  into  Wallace's  mind.  He  almost  hated  the 
little  thing,  because  he  had  felt  then  that  he 
was  doomed  to  remain  in  the  Islands  with  his 
child.  He  could  not  abandon  his  own  child! 
But  his  wife?  And  with  the  thought  of  her 
he  returned  from  his  reminiscences  with  a  start, 
and  once  more  faced  the  question  which  had 
been  bothering  him  for  the  past  six  months. 
In  spite  of  the  boy,  should  he  or  should  he  not 
do  as  so  many  other  whites  who  married  natives 


294  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

had  done?  That  would  be  to  leave  his  wife  in 
the  Islands,  with  a  monthly  allowance  until 
she  married  again.  The  abandoned  wife  re- 
turns to  her  family  to  live,  and  they  are  glad  to 
welcome  her  back  accompanied  by  a  neat  little 
allowance.  The  thought  of  deserting  Manuela 
grated  harshly  on  his  conscience,  but  there 
seemed  nothing  else  to  do  unless  he  was  willing 
to  remain  in  the  Islands,  working  on  a  barely 
paying  proposition,  for  Buena  Suerte  did  not 
live  up  to  its  name.  The  thought  of  taking 
Manuela  with  him  to  the  States  he  always 
quickly  dismissed  from  his  mind.  He  had  not 
the  requisite  moral  sense  to  face  his  relatives 
and  friends  at  home  with  a  little  brown,  unedu- 
cated wife,  whose  father  spent  his  days  knee- 
deep  in  the  mud  of  the  rice  paddies,  driving 
about  a  caribao  hitched  to  a  plow. 

Dejectedly  Wallace  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
with  hands  in  his  pockets  and  head  bent  for- 
ward, he  paced  the  floor  of  his  little  study,  all 
the  while  thinking,  thinking.  He  was  a  tall, 
well-built  man  of  twenty-nine,  with  brown  hair, 
blue  eyes,  decisive  chin;  but  with  rather  a  cruel 
mouth.  It  was  the  one  feature  which  kept 
his  face  from  being  very  handsome. 

Worried,  despondent,  Wallace  left  his  study 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  295 

and  went  to  his  room.  Going  to  his  trunk, 
he  took  out  a  bundle  containing  photographs 
of  his  friends.  There  was  really  only  one  pic- 
ture he  wanted,  and  that  was  Alicia's.  His 
old  love  for  her  seemed  to  be  returning  with 
overwhelming  power.  He  must  have  spent 
fifteen  minutes  gazing  at  the  picture  before  he 
was  aware  of  someone's  presence  in  the  room. 
Turning,  he  saw  Manuela  standing  in  the  door, 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  thought  she  had 
been  spying  upon  him,  so  he  demanded  hotly: 

"  What  do  you  want?  Why  don't  you  let  a 
person  know  when  you  enter  a  room?  " 

"  I  thought  you  called,"  she  faltered. 

Wallace  knew  this  was  a  lie,  and  he  said 
cruelly: 

11  Come  over  here!  I've  got  something  to 
show  you!  "  He  took  Alicia's  picture  from 
the  trunk  where  he  had  thrown  it  on  seeing 
Manuela,  and  thrusting  the  picture  before  his 
wife's  eyes,  continued,  "  See  this  girl?  She 
is  the  girl  I  once  hoped  to  marry.  A  nice  white 
girl !  And  I  am  going  back  to  her  soon.  That's 
all!  " 

Poor  little  Manuela!  It  was  not  her  fault 
that  Wallace  was  so  unhappy.  She  did  all  she 
could  to  please  him.  The  trouble  rested  with 


296  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

him;  he  should  never  have  married  her.  She 
left  the  room  crying. 

The  next  day  Wallace  repented  of  the  way  he 
had  treated  her  the  night  before,  and  did  his 
best  to  be  pleasant.  But  what  had  happened 
had  opened  Manuela's  eyes  to  the  real  condition 
of  affairs.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  she  would 
keep  him  with  her — and  she  knew  how! 

At  dinner  that  night  Manuela  had  on  the 
table  what  she  said  was  a  surprise  for  her 
husband.  It  was  a  native  wine  called  tuba. 
Wallace  was  a  very  moderate  drinker,  and 
being  careful  to  use  liquor  very  slightly  in 
the  hot  Philippines,  he  at  first  refused  the 
drink.  He  had  heard  that  tuba  spelled  ruin 
to  a  white  man.  But  upon  her  telling  him 
she  had  diluted  it  with  cocoanut  milk,  he  yielded. 
True,  there  was  cocoanut  milk  in  the  beverage, 
but  very  little ! 

In  two  months'  time  Wallace  was  mad  for 
tuba.  Whenever  he  attempted  to  go  without 
it  his  body  seemed  to  cry  out  for  it,  and  he 
would  become  mean  and  brutal.  He  would 
swear  at  Manuela  and  threaten  to  leave  for 
the  States.  Then  Manuela  would  calm  him  by 
giving  him  more  tuba. 

Fortunately    for    Richard    Wallace,    he    fell 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  297 

ill  with  a  bad  case  of  dysentery,  and  was  removed 
to  the  army  hospital — the  only  one  in  Zam- 
boanga.  He  was  desperately  ill  for  two  months, 
and  by  the  time  he  was  well  again  he  had  out- 
grown his  maddening  desire  for  tuba.  He 
realised  how  near  to  ruin  he  had  been.  Upon 
his  return  to  the  plantation  he  vowed  never  to 
touch  another  drop  of  the  liquor. 

And  now  he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to 
leave  the  Islands  for  good;  to  leave  Manuela 
who  loved  him  so  that  she  would  rather  see  him 
go  to  ruin  by  her  side,  than  let  him  return  to 
his  people. 

One  night  as  Wallace  sat  at  his  desk  trying 
to  do  a  little  work,  he  heard  several  faint  knocks 
— Manuela's  knocks — on  the  door. 

"  Come  in!  "  he  cried. 

The  door  opened  and  Manuela  appeared,  a 
tray  in  her  hand.  On  the  tray  was  a  glass 
containing  a  grayish  liquid. 

"  See  what  your  little  Manuela  has  brought 
you.  How  you  must  have  missed  it  at  the 
hospital !  They  wouldn't  let  me  bring  you  any/ ' 
she  said,  as  she  daintily  placed  the  glass  upon  his 
desk. 

Wallace  seized  the  hand  that  had  held 
the  glass,  and  demanded,  his  voice  quiver- 


298  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

ing  with  suppressed  rage:  "  What's  in  that 
glass?  " 

"  Tuba!  "  she  admitted. 

Contemptuously  he  flung  her  hand  to  her 
side.  He  rose  suddenly,  and  for  a  moment 
appeared  about  to  strike  her.  Then,  master- 
ing his  rage,  he  spoke  in  a  calm,  decided  voice: 

"  Manuela,  don't  you  suppose  I  know  why 
you  are  offering  me  this  tuba  P  You  saw  I  was 
getting  agitated  over  something  when  I  entered 
the  house.  You  feared  I  was  thinking  of 
deserting  you.  And  so  to  keep  me,  you  decided 
— as  you  did  some  months  ago — to  make  a 
drunkard  out  of  me;  to  make  me  love  this 
tuba,  to  idolise  it  the  way  some  white  wrecks 
in  Zamboanga  do,  so  that  for  its  sake  I  wouldn't 
leave  you  and  these  cursed  Islands!  " 

With  a  little  scream  she  sank  into  a  chair, 
thus  showing  Wallace  he  had  understood  her 
intentions. 

"  Manuela,"  he  continued,  "  I  leave  early  to- 
morrow morning  for  Zamboanga,  where  I  shall 
take  the  '  Seward,  for  Manila.  At  Manila  I 
shall  make  connections  for  the  States  and  home." 

Sobbing  like  a  wild,  half-crazed  person,  she 
fell  on  her  knees  at  his  side,  seizing  his  legs 
frantically  in  her  arms.  She  begged  him  to 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  290 

forgive  her.    For  the  child's  sake!    She  loved 
him  so! 

Richard  Wallace  nearly  gave  in.  He  felt 
like  a  brute.  But  he  used  every  atom  of  will- 
power to  keep  himself  from  yielding  to  her 
entreaties.  He  lifted  Manuela  to  her  feet,  and 
called  Conchita,  an  old  servant,  and  a  distant 
poor  relation  of  the  girl. 

"  I  will  leave  you  the  plantation,"  Wallace 
managed  to  continue,  "  and  will  send  you 
monthly  fifty  dollars  American  money  until 
you  marry  again." 

"  Never!  "  she  screamed.  "  I  will  kill  my- 
self! "  And  she  fainted  in  his  arms.  Poor 
little  half-savage,  she  had  meant  no  wrong. 
She  had  only  wanted  to  keep  by  her  side  the 
man  she  loved. 

Wallace  and  Conchita  carried  Manuela  to 
her  room.  They  revived  her,  but  upon  regain- 
ing her  senses,  she  became  hysterical.  Wallace 
left  the  room,  deciding  it  would  be  better  to 
leave  her  alone  with  Conchita. 

He  spent  the  remainder  of  the  night  packing 
frantically.  He  wanted  to  get  away  from  the 
plantation  as  soon  as  possible  and  forget  the 
past  five  years.  Manuela's  sobs  were  hard  on 
his  nerves,  but  towards  morning  she  had  almost 


300  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

ceased  crying,  and  finally  she  had  cried  herself 
to  sleep. 

But  before  he  left  Wallace  tiptoed  into  the 
nursery  to  see  his  baby  boy.  As  he  gazed  at  the 
little  sleeping  form  with  its  chubby  little  thumb 
in  its  mouth,  he  wondered  what  was  in  store  for 
the  child,  his  little  boy!  When  he  was  old 
enough,  would  he  ask  about  his  father?  And 
what  would  they  tell  him?  Wallace  shuddered. 
Then  with  a,  "  May  God  help  you,  little  fel- 
low! "  he  left  the  room.  The  wrong  he  was 
doing  stood  cruelly  and  vividly  before  him. 
Still,  his  leaving  was  for  his  own  good.  If  he 
remained  in  the  Islands  there  would  probably 
be  an  inglorious  end  for  him;  if  he  returned  to 
America  there  would  still  be  a  chance  for  him 
really  to  do  something. 

When  Wallace  reached  the  little  pier  of  the 
plantation  he  found  Jose  in  the  launch  awaiting 
his  arrival.  There  were  his  trunks,  and  how 
good  they  looked  to  him!  They  meant  that 
Wallace  was  going  away  somewhere — away 
from  Buena  Suerte — and  he  knew  the  somewhere 
was  to  be  his  dear  old  home  in  America. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  launch  at  Zamboanga 
the  "  Seward  "  had  docked,  and  it  lacked  only 
three  hours  of  the  ship's  sailing  time.  Wallace 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  301 

rushed  to  the  steamship  office  to  engage  his 
passage  to  Manila.  To  his  great  disappoint- 
ment, he  found  there  was  not  a  vacant  berth 
on  board.  The  ship  was  overcrowded  with 
tourists  as  it  was.  Wallace  knew  the  purser, 
who,  he  hoped,  might  be  able  to  hunt  up  a  berth 
for  him  somewhere,  as  pursers  are  wont  to  do 
at  the  last  minute  for  friends.  He  must  obtain 
passage  on  the  "  Seward,"  as  it  would  be  a 
week  at  least  before  another  steamer  bound  for 
Manila  would  come  to  Zamboanga.  And  what 
might  happen  in  a  week's  time  filled  Wallace 
with  apprehension. 

He  was  about  to  ascend  the  steamer's  gang- 
plank when  he  was  aware  of  a  woman  descend- 
ing, so  he  stepped  aside  to  let  her  pass. 

"  Thank  you!  "  she  said.  The  voice  made 
him  start  and  glance  up  from  under  his  Panama. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  they  both  stood  stock  still, 
overcome  with  surprise. 

"  Alicia!  "  Wallace  managed  to  gasp. 

"  Richard — Dicky  Wallace,  I  declare!  How 
glad  I  am  to  see  you!"  She  seized  his  limp 
hand  in  her  fascinating,  frank  way. 

Richard  Wallace  seemed  unable  to  do  any- 
thing except  stare  in  astonishment.  Here  was 
the  girl  he  had  always  hoped  to  marry;  the 


302  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

girl  to  whom  he  had  failed  to  write  for  nearly 
three  years;  here  she  was  in  the  Philippines, 
she  had  come  to  him!  And  obeying  the 
impulse  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  he  started 
towards  her,  but  she  stepped  back.  Her  with- 
drawing from  his  embrace  made  him  realise  he 
had  no  right  to  Alicia.  He  thought  of  Manuela, 
and  blurted  out: 

"  You  shouldn't  have  come!  You  shouldn't 
have  come!  I'm  sorry  I  did  not  write." 

Alicia  blushed  slightly,  and  awkwardly  said: 
"  You  don't  know  why  I  am  here,  Dicky. 
It's—" 

Again  his  old  love  for  her  returned  with  such 
force  that  it  blinded  him  to  anything  else  but 
the  thought  that  she  had  come  to  him;  to  him 
alone!  And  he  cried,  seizing  her  passionately 
in  his  arms: 

"  You  knew  I  was  in  need  of  you.  You 
guessed  I  was  leading  a  wretched  existence  in 
these  God-forsaken  Islands,  and  you  have  come 
tome.  Bless  you!" 

She  managed  to  struggle  from  him.  And 
to  clear  matters  at  once,  she  said: 

"  I  am  married!     I  am  on  my  honeymoon!  " 

Wallace's  face,  which  had  been  flushed  with 
passion,  paled.  He  clenched  his  fists  frantically. 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  303 

Then  he  came  forward  with  outstretched  hand, 
saying: 

"  Congratulations,  Alicia !  I'm  sorry  for  what 
I  did.  Please  forgive  me.  I  don't  know  why 
I  should  have  thought  what  I  did  after  all  this 
time." 

Tears  were  dimming  Alicia's  eyes.  "  For- 
give me,  Dicky!  I  should  have  written  you 
about  my  marriage;  but  you  suddenly  refused 
to  answer  my  letters —  " 

"  It's  my  fault,"  he  said  dryly,  with  a  tinge 
of  disappointment  in  his  voice.  "  I  am  also 
married,  and  have  a  baby — a  boy." 

"  Let  me  congratulate  you,  too!  " 

c<  N — ;  "  he  was  about  to  say  "  no  "  when  he 
checked  himself.  "  I  married  a  native.  Man- 
uela  is  her  name,"  he  murmured. 

"  They  are  fascinating,  these  little  laughing 
native  women,"  Alicia  said,  to  fill  an  awkward 
pause. 

"  We  all  think  that— at  first!  "  he  burst  out. 

Alicia  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  now 
she  noticed  the  haggard,  worn-out  look  on  his 
face. 

At  this  moment  the  steamship-agent  passed, 
from  whom  Wallace  had  tried  to  obtain  accom- 
modation. "  Any  luck,"  he  asked,  "  about 


304  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

getting  a  stateroom  from  the  purser  or  one  of  the 
officers?  " 

"  No!  "  Wallace  answered  angrily. 

"  Oh,  were  you  wanting  to  go  to  Manila  on 
this  boat?  "  Alicia  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Not  especially,"  he  faltered. 

"  Let  us  sit  over  there  on  those  empty 
boxes/'  she  suggested,  starting  towards  the 
boxes,  with  Wallace  following  her. 

For  some  minutes  they  sat  without  speaking. 
They  both  seemed  to  have  something  weighing 
heavily  upon  their  minds.  Wallace  noticed 
how  unchanged  Alicia  was  from  the  last  time 
he  had  seen  her.  The  dark  brown  hair  and 
violet  eyes  were  as  attractive  as  ever. 

"  You  haven't  changed  much,  Alicia,"  he 
ventured. 

"  But  you  have,  Dicky!  Pardon  my  frank- 
ness; but  we  are  old  friends;  and  I  am  going  to 
ask  some  very  personal  questions,  as  some  of 
your  remarks  have  led  me  to  suspect  certain 
things.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you." 

After  a  slight  pause,  she  asked,  "  Are  you 
really  happy  here?  Should  you  like  to  return 
home?  " 

"  Alicia,"  he  began,  "  I  know  there  is  nothing 
to  be  pitied  more  than  a  person  who  pities  him- 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  305 

self;  but  I  am  going  to  be  frank  with  you,  too. 
I  am  most  unhappy;  and  do  I  want  to  go  home? 
Home!  Yes;  I  want  to  go  home.  Back  to  the 
dear  old  States.  Alicia,  my  soul  and  body  just 
throb  with  that  desire.  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
to  leave  the  Islands  for  good  when  I  met  you. 
Then  you  told  me  you  were  married,  and  I 
decided  to  stay  and  stick  it  out  here." 

"  Suppose  you  had  returned  and  found  me 
single,  you  wouldn't  have  asked  me  to  marry 
you — you  having  a  wife  and  child  here?  "  she 
asked  in  a  startled  voice. 

"  Yes.  You  see  out  here  when  a  white  man 
marries  a  native  he  doesn't  usually  regard  her 
as  a  real  wife." 

"  How  cruel!  "  she  exclaimed. 

Then  Wallace  told  Alicia  of  the  past  five 
years  of  his  life.  How  at  first  she  had  been 
constantly  in  his  mind,  and  how  hard  he  had 
worked,  hoping  to  make  good  so  that  he  might 
send  for  her.  How  the  loneliness  of  the  new 
land,  the  failure  of  Buena  Suerte  to  show  prom- 
ising signs,  and  how  a  dozen  other  little  dis- 
appointments had  made  him  long  for  a  com- 
panion, the  kind  of  a  companion  a  wife  is.  And 
how  at  this  juncture  Manuela  with  her  quaint, 
refreshing  personality  fascinated  him  into  marry- 


306  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

ing  her.     And  in  a  rather  touching  way  Wallace 
revealed  the  unhappy  married  life  they  had  led. 

Alicia  sympathised  with  him,  and  when  he 
finished  his  story,  she  said:  "  I  should  so  like  to 
see  this  Manuela  and  the  baby!  " 

Wallace's  face  beamed  for  the  first  time  that 
day,  and  for  the  first  time  in  several  days.  He 
pleaded  in  an  almost  childlike  way:  "  Oh,  do 
come !  Both  you  and  your  husband  would  find 
life  at  Buena  Suerte  so  different  from  what  you 
are  accustomed  to  that  it  would  interest  you; 
at  least  for  a  while.  Please  say  you'll  come, 
Alicia!" 

"  I  will,  Dick."  And  then,  after  a  pause, 
"  If  only  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  life  I  might 
have  led." 

"  Good  for  you,  Mrs. —  " 

"  Mrs.  Watson,"  Alicia  filled  in,  smiling. 
"  And  there  comes  my  husband.  Oh,  George!  " 

A  gentleman  of  about  forty-five  came  up  to 
them.  Alicia  introduced  the  two,  and  then 
told  her  husband  she  had  accepted  for  them 
both  Wallace's  invitation  to  visit  him  on  his 
hemp  plantation.  Watson  seemed  delighted  at 
the  prospect,  and  gave  his  wife  an  affectionate 
little  glance,  which  sent  an  unexplainable 
feeling  of  remorse  surging  through  Wallace. 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  307 

As  the  Watsons  hurried  aboard  the  "  Seward  " 
to  see  about  having  their  trunks  landed,  Wallace 
watched  them  until  they  disappeared  from  view. 
He  almost  envied  Mr.  Watson.  But  after  the 
way  he  had  acted  towards  Alicia,  he  admitted 
to  himself  that  he  was  unworthy  of  her.  And 
with  a  sigh,  he  hastened  back  to  the  launch 
to  have  it  in  readiness  for  an  immediate  depart- 
ure upon  the  arrival  of  the  Watsons  and  their 
baggage. 

It  was  late  in  the  night  when  the  launch 
reached  Buena  Suerte.  Not  a  light  could  be 
seen  in  the  plantation  house,  but  all  around  it 
glowed  the  embers  of  the  bonfires,  which 
had  been  built  earlier  to  keep  off  the  mos- 
quitoes. A  good  way  off  in  Juan's  little  nipa 
hut  a  light  flickered.  Juan  was  expected  back 
that  night,  so  naturally  Petrona,  his  wife, 
had  left  a  glass  of  cocoanut  oil  with  a  wick  in 
it  at  the  door.  But  there  was  no  light  ready 
for  Wallace.  He  was  thought  to  have  gone  for 
good.  It  made  a  little  lump  rise  in  his  throat; 
he  realised  what  a  contemptible  thing  he  had 
attempted. 

When  he  reached  the  house  he  showed  the 
Watsons  their  room,  and  then  anxiously  hurried 
to  his  wife's  bedroom. 


308  THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS 

Silently  he  turned  the  doorknob,  and  closing 
the  door  behind  him,  he  tiptoed  over  to 
Manuela's  bed.  The  room  was  fairly  dark.  He 
wanted  to  surprise  his  wife  by  awakening  her 
with  a  kiss.  He  saw  faintly  the  outline  of  a 
figure  on  the  bed.  Bending  over,  he  nervously 
kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

The  cheek  was  cold! 

For  a  moment  Wallace's  heart  seemed  to 
stop  beating.  He  snatched  a  box  of  matches 
from  his  pocket  and  lighted  one.  It  sputtered, 
glowed  for  a  second,  and  then  went  out.  But 
it  gave  him  time  to  see  all  he  wanted. 

For  there  on  the  bed,  nestled  together,  were 
mother  and  child — both  apparently  dead. 

The  shock  was  too  much  for  Wallace.  He 
went  completely  to  pieces  and  cried  out  and 
sobbed.  Manuela  must  have  killed  herself 
and  the  child  on  account  of  him ! 

There  were  footsteps  on  the  porch,  and  a 
moment  later  Juan  and  his  wife,  wild-eyed 
with  excitement,  rushed  into  the  room,  followed 
by  Alicia  and  her  husband,  the  latter  carrying  a 
lamp. 

"  Los  Mows!'  Juan  exclaimed  in  Spanish. 
"  The  Moros,  two  of  them  from  the  village  ran 
juramentado,  my  wife  says.  They  killed  Dona 


THE  GRIP  OF  THE  TROPICS  309 

Manuela,  her  child,  and  old  Conchita,  who  was 
caring  for  the  Senora.  Dios  mio,  Dios  mio !" 

Wallace  was  now  silent.  He  stood  motion- 
less in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  eyes 
fixed  upon  his  dead.  As  if  in  a  dream,  he  saw 
Alicia  go  over  to  the  bed,  and  kneel  down  beside 
it.  He  saw  her  suddenly  start,  and  then 
gently  lift  the  baby  from  the  bed.  A  moment 
later  he  heard  a  faint  little  sob — a  baby's  sob. 
With  a  cry  which  seemed  to  come  from  his  very 
soul,  he  sprang  to  Alicia's  side,  and  took  the 
infant  from  her  arms. 

"  Ricardito!  "  Wallace  exclaimed  in  a  voice 
infinitely  tender,  which  bespoke  the  awakened 
fatherhood  in  him.  "  Thank  God,  little  fellow,  I 
have  you  still !  There  won't  be  anything  that 
I  won't  do  for  you.  No,  nothing'll  be  too  good 
for  you — you  little  image  of  your  mother!" 

LEONARD  WOOD,  JR. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  5O  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


JAN  J£    344 


If  M 


r 
b 


333794 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


